


When In Rome

by Sehpgb



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Ancient Rome, F/M, Gladiators, Historical, Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 09:24:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 146,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19885336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sehpgb/pseuds/Sehpgb
Summary: Originally posted on FictionPress





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FictionPress

_Rome, 120 AD_

She strolled into Crispinus's private chamber with the air of one who considered herself a goddess: her steps sure, her chin held high, casually tossing a stray ringlet of golden red hair over her shoulder to join the rest of the thick wavy mass that cascaded down her back. Her expression said that she knew she was beautiful, and was fully prepared to take on the burdens that came with such perfection.

And the pleasures.

She wore a pale blue _palla_ around her shoulders and a white, calf-length _stola_ that was fastened at each shoulder with a gold clip. The _stola_ was unusually sheer. Such an erotic choice of outfit told him she had planned this visit out carefully. She had even gone without the protection of her boots to wear a pair of flimsy, pearl-lined sandals instead, revealing ten pale, perfectly formed little toes. Poets could have spent decades trying to describe those toes and still not done them justice.

She didn't so much as flinch with the guard slammed the solid wood door shut behind her, locking her in with him where she would be left entirely to his mercy for the next hour. Yes, she definitely thought herself a goddess.

When she caught sight of him standing there across the room, her head lifted even more and a small smile played at the corners of her full, pouty lips. 'Arrogant' and 'wanting' were the two words that first came to mind, and neither were surprising to see. All the women who came to him after a tournament acted that way, despite the nature of their visit. Where they found the gall to remain so condescending Crispinus never knew, but he fought to quell his thoughts lest he lose the urge to take her entirely. He needed the release and she would do as well as any, this haughty, redheaded goddess. His bitter ponderings could come later, along with the regret.

She didn't speak, but that mischievous smile never left her face as she let her _palla_ slip oh-so-slowly from off her shoulders and then coyly reached up to unclasp her _stola_. As the fabric slipped down her body, her eyes locked on his face, making sure he didn't miss this most important part of her unveiling. She needn't have worried. She had his full attention.

A final little wiggle and the cloth came free, floating down to land in a pile on the floor with the rest of her clothes. With a flick of her ankle, she kicked off one delicate sandal and then the other, then proceeded to walk towards him as naked as the day she was born, swaying her hips in a way that he knew was supposed to look erotic and enticing, but which came across—as it always did—as manipulative and desperate.

Crispinus wanted to scowl, but he made himself smile instead. The goddess's eyes flared when she saw it, and the roll of her hips became even more pronounced.

"Why are you acting like this?" Crispinus asked.

She reached him and ran her hands up his chest, her gaze seemingly riveted to the way his muscles reacted to her touch, tensing and bunching under her fingertips even through the barrier of rough cloth that covered him.

"I'm setting the mood," she told him in a breathy whisper.

Crispinus snatched her hand away in irritation and pulled her close so that her naked body was pressed intimately against his own. He only wore his _tunica_ , and that wasn't anywhere near thick enough to hide the erection pulsing beneath it.

"I don't need a mood to fuck a woman," he growled. He spoke harshly to try and spook her from attempting any more bold moves on his person, but just like a goddess, his tone didn't distress her. It did, however, arouse her. He should have known. Her eyes dilated and her breath quickened. Without asking, she tugged his _tunica_ off him. When her eyes fell on his manhood, she reached out and ran a hand up and down his length in obvious awe.

"You're very big," she told him, sounding a little winded.

"And I'll feel even bigger inside of you," said Crispinus bluntly, once again pulling her hand away. "You have the gold?"

She nodded, but her eyes were locked on his erection. He cleared his throat to let her know he was waiting and it snapped her out of her fixation long enough to turn away. "Yes. Yes, I do."

She hurried back over to her pile of clothes and crouched down to dig through one of the pockets. After a few seconds, she pulled out a small leather satchel secured with a drawstring and carried it over to him. Crispinus took it, dumped the gold into his hand, and counted the coins.

"You know," the goddess said thoughtfully, "not many of your kind would demand payment. They'd think it would make them look like some kind of male prostitute."

His smile was humorless. "You forget that I am a gladiator. Whores are above my social standing."

Satisfied with the amount, he dumped the money back into the bag, pulled the drawstring tight, and tossed it onto a nearby table.

"Still," she persisted, "most gladiator's would consider the act reward enough."

Crispinus rolled his eyes and reached for her. In one swift move that made her gasp, he twirled the redhead around so that she was pinned between him and the stone wall behind her.

" _Dea_ ," he said as he yanked up her leg and thrust himself into her, showing his teeth as her head fell back with a groan, "being used is never a reward for anyone."


	2. Chapter One

_Five Months Later…_

Hades must be pleased. Crispinus Agallon could feel the raw heat of the god's pleasure rising up from the ground of sand and blood, combining with the power of the sun that blazed down upon the arena to make everything around him shimmer and bend, as if he were surrounded on all sides by a great forge's fire. It hindered his sight, but not enough that he didn't notice the _retiarius_ ' attack.

Crispinus effortlessly dodged the net his fellow warrior threw at him and raised his sword to block the incoming blow of another man's trident. They were his last two contenders, and he was about to finish them.

His retaliation was swift. The _retiarii_ were more agile than he thanks to their light armor, but it also left them more vulnerable to the blade, and Crispinus was fast enough to catch them both with his sword before they had a chance to evade his attack. The two men couldn't contain their screams of pain as his weapon sliced through their padded _tunica_ , making shallow but debilitating cuts across their chests. It wouldn't kill them, but it did put them out of the fight.

Both men fell to their knees, clutching at their wounds. With the adrenaline and bloodlust pounding through Crispinus's veins, it was a wonder he managed to keep himself from landing that last fatal blow across their necks. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that their families would demand compensation for the _retiarii_ 's deaths, and Cato would make sure it came from Crispinus's own pocket. Cato, the bastard, was always trying to swindle Crispinus out of his money. Had he been aware of the man's greedy character, he would never have agreed to become his student. He would have sold himself to one of the other dozens of gladiator masters who knew the way of the sword.

Ah, hindsight. It was indeed a bitter and useless thing.

Crispinus looked up to where the Emperor sat in the stands, leaving the final decision up to him instead. When his majesty gave a thumbs up to spare the two men, Crispinus forced himself to calm and sheathed his blade, trying to take pleasure in the fact that he was at least the victor—again—and therefore the still undefeated champion of Rome.

He raised his shield high as the sideline announcer yelled out his name. The crowd roared its approval and a rare breeze managed to top the amphitheatre, blowing past Crispinus and washing him in another breath-stealing rush of heat. To Crispinus, it felt like a congratulatory pat from the god of the Underworld himself, and he wondered if the god's favor for him diminished outside the stadium walls just like it did with the thousands of fans currently cheering for him with unconcealed rapture on their faces.

Most likely.

Crispinus cursed, the unwanted admission sucking away what little pleasure he had managed to feel over his victory as completely as the heat sucked the moisture from the air, leaving his throat dry and his heart empty. He had a hard enough time finding satisfaction in his life these days without cynicism like that getting in the way. Every day doubts pricked harder at his conscience, drawing blood in the form of wants he hadn't dared to think about for years. It wasn't that he had never felt this kind of despondency before, but he usually managed to work himself out of it by now. That he couldn't this time bothered him a great deal.

Disgusted with himself and everyone around him, Crispinus turned and left the stadium via the gladiator's tunnel, ignoring the pieces of gold and half-wilted flowers that the spectators tossed down in his wake.

* * *

The Elysian Fields were beautiful, Persephone thought from where she lay among her favorite patch of asphodels. The grass was thick and springy, the soil moist, the rivers clear and cool. Above her the sky was a bright cloudless blue, more vibrant than had ever been seen in the world above, even without a proper sun to light it, and the sporadic winds that blew through the grasses and trees were always gentle and warm.

Who'd have thought that such a place in the Underworld could exist? The Underworld, where the dead came to final judgment and were either admitted into the heaven that was the Elysian Fields for eternal peace and happiness—or to Tartarus for eternal damnation and pain.

From where she lounged, Persephone could just make out a small grove of poplar trees swaying in the distance. It was through there that the entrance to Tartarus could be found, and she made it a point to always keep her distance, lest she somehow be drawn inside and lose her immortal soul.

The very thought made her shiver, and she ran a hand through the small group of asphodels, causing a few to explode into early bloom just from the sheer joy of being touched by the goddess of spring. They leaned into her caress, their silent, flowery sighs releasing a golden cloud of pollen into the air.

She smiled.

"I have never before been envious of a flower, but when I watch you stroke them like that I can hardly breathe for all the jealously inside."

The goddess looked up to see that a man had appeared beside her. He was leaning back on his elbows as if he had been lazing there for hours instead of seconds, his head half-cocked as he watched her play with the young plants. He had a long, powerful body draped in midnight blue robes that were very much at odds with her own sunlight yellow ones. Dark hair framed his handsome face and spilled down over his strong, broad shoulders. Persephone couldn't help but smile wider at the sight of him.

"A jealous god," she mused with a thoughtful tap on her chin. "I've never heard of such."

"You tease me when I am being perfectly sincere," he pouted, and Persephone, unable to resist the allure that pout caused, leaned down to place a chaste kiss against his lips.

"I tease only out of love," she assured him, giving the tip of his nose a playful tweak.

"Only the goddess of spring would dare to pinch my nose as if I were child," he said with a scowl even as his black eyes twinkled. "As god of the Underworld, I demand recompense."

"As god of the Underworld, I give you nothing," Persephone told him, stifling a giggle at the false look of shock he sent her. "But, as my lover, I'd be more than happy to give you whatever type of recompense you choose to exact from me."

"Well, that is incomparably better, " he said, and gave her a smile so full of promise and love that it made the goddess of spring's heart turn to liquid, just like the winter ice she was forever melting off her flora.

Her love leaned back so that he was lying fully in the grass and held open his arms for her. She immediately snuggled down into his embrace, sighing happily as he stroked her hair. None of the other gods and goddesses could believe how sweet the god of the Underworld's true nature was. They thought him fearsome; the Great Lord of the Dead, living amongst the departed, guarded by his ferocious beasts. They said he took joy in death, that his world was as dark as his soul.

Hearing such things always made Persephone laugh. A dark soul? Her love? The man who brought her breakfast in bed and often insisted in carrying her around in his arms just to have her close? Who could make love to her so tenderly one minute and so passionately the next that even the goddess of love, Aphrodite, would be in awe of it, should she ever bear witness to the act? A dark soul indeed. They knew nothing of her love's true heart, or the tenderness hidden within it.

"Where were you today, Hades?" Persephone asked after a few minutes of peaceful cuddling. "I missed you."

"The gladiator games were today." His voice came out as a rumble from where she lay against his chest.

"That's right. I forgot. You do so love watching those troublesome warriors battle each other, don't you?"

"Yes, even when it sends them to Elysian Fields all the earlier."

"Or Tartarus," Persephone couldn't help adding in a mumble.

Hades chuckled. "They are not bad men, most of them. Mortal, that's all."

That was another thing the others always got wrong: Hades loved his humans. Maybe it was because he spent so much time with them as god of the Underworld, but never a day went by when he didn't have a story to tell her about their bravery or their resourcefulness. He openly admired the way they made the most out of their short, mortal lifespans. Even the millions he'd sent to Tartarus couldn't diminish his love for them. _The evilness of some in no way overpowers the goodness of the rest,_ as he liked to say.

He lapsed into a pensive silence. Persephone tilted her head up to try and see his expression, but his chin was in the way.

"Is something wrong?" she asked. "You did enjoy yourself, didn't you?"

"I did, indeed."

She propped herself up on her elbow so she could look down at him. He watched her with those fathomless black eyes of his, every emotion known to mortal and immortal alike hidden in their depths. She fingered the tiny frown mark that nestled between them. "Then why is there this crinkle between your brow?"

He sighed unhappily. The sound gave Persephone chills. Despite his cheerful nature, no one could sound as depressed as the Lord of the Dead when he was in a mood. No one.

He noticed the goosebumps on her arms and immediately apologized, pulling her back into his embrace and rubbing her skin briskly in an effort to warm her.

"It's the gladiator," Hades explained. "He's unhappy and restless."

"Your little favorite? Crispinus? What happened? Has he finally been defeated?"

"No. He remains champion. Just earlier today he defeated two _retiarii_ in a single blow." Even despondent, the admiration in the god's tone was clear.

"Then why is he unhappy?"

"I'm not sure." Hades pondered. "I think… I think maybe he is lonely."

"Ah." Persephone nodded knowingly, and a little bit sadly. "Then I am not surprised you noticed it."

Loneliness was something about which Hades knew very well. It was that overwhelming ache for companionship that had first led him to leave his home in more than a millennia, searching for something he hardly dared name. When he'd seen Persephone dancing among the summer blossoms, desperation had caused him to lure her to the Underworld to have as his own. Because, as the goddess of spring, who better to renew his heart and soul?

Of course, she had been furious with him at first, tricking her like that. She was a goddess after all, and no matter how young, hated being deceived. But when he had finally broken down and admitted to his loneliness, his need for another, her anger had turned to sympathy, and sympathy had given way to fondness, and one day she'd realized that her fondness had bloomed into love undying, like an amaranth flower.

When he had, without hope, offered her a pomegranate, a fruit that would tie her to him and his world forever, she had taken it without regret. Something he thanked her for with every kiss, every touch, every smile, and every laugh he bestowed on her each and every day. Hades, the Lord of the Dead, made Persephone feel more alive and loved than even the goddess of spring could have ever dreamed.

"So what will you do?"

She pulled away again and the god of the Underworld blinked up at her in surprise.

"Do?"

Persephone rolled her eyes. "Well, you're not just going to leave him like that, are you?"

"What can I do?" Hades asked her. "The Fates must have a plan for him. Anything I do will only interfere with that."

"On the contrary, I think any interference by you would only be part of their plan," Persephone argued.

He frowned. "I don't understand."

"Destiny, Hades! Whatever action we take is done and was therefore meant to be. If it wasn't, it wouldn't happen. See?"

"Not at all."

Persephone made a very un-goddess-like scoffing noise in the back of her throat. "Well never mind. _I_ understand what I mean and if you trust me that's all that matters. You do trust me, don't you?"

"Of course," he said immediately, and the proud sincerity in his voice made Persephone beam.

"Then up with you, my lazy god," she exclaimed, tugging the Lord of the Dead to his feet. "And let us go and find someone to make your gladiator happy."

* * *

_Rome, Present Day_

Katelyn Gray was not happy.

She shouldn't have answered her phone. The second it had started to ring and she'd seen Jason's smiling, bespectacled face on the cell's front screen, she should have turned it off and gone to bed.

But no, she'd had to answer it. And before she could get a word in edge-wise he had gone off on her. There was no stopping him when he got like this and damn it, he had the nerve to sound irritated at _her_. Like _she_ was the bad guy!

Tomorrow was Father's Day, the holiday she hated the most. Getting out of it was normally very easy since her father, Paul Daniels, lived in Italy, and she made sure to travel anywhere but. But her editor had been adamant about sending her to Rome to write up a review for the city's new Grande Hotel de la Fortuna, so she'd had no choice but to come.

And _who_ had tipped her father off that she was in Italy? _Who_ had told him which hotel she was at so he could send messages every day begging her for a lunch date? That's right. Jason.

Kate didn't want to have lunch with her father. She didn't want to see him at all. In fact, she had come up with more than a dozen viable excuses for standing up her sorry excuse for a parent, and she would have used one of them too if she hadn't answered stupid Jason's phone call and found herself getting clobbered with the guilt trip of a lifetime.

She hadn't bothered asking how he knew she was planning on bailing his little set-up. He was her brother—her _twin_ brother—older by less then five minutes, and he could always sense when she was upset about something.

_Or when I'm about to blow someone off_ , Kate mentally added as she listened to his ranting. Apparently, being on a completely different continent with the entire Atlantic Ocean between them did nothing to dim his brotherly powers of intuition.

"If you feel so obligated to him, why don't _you_ go?" Kate snapped when he at last paused for breath.

Jason snorted. "Even though you took the easy way out in college with that A.A. degree of yours, I know you're smart enough to realize why that's impossible."

"Because you're lazy?" Kate suggested, playing dumb because of his three-millionth crack at her Journalism major.

"Because I'd lose my residency at the hospital if I took even an hour off," Jason retorted. "And because I'm already up to my eyeballs in debt and plane tickets to Italy would drown me. _And_ because Sarah is in her last month of pregnancy and even if I had the cash, I really don't want to fly all the way over there just for her to go into labor."

"Your child would be a dual citizen," Kate pointed out sweetly.

"And if he wanted to be president? You can't be commander-in-chief if you aren't born on U.S. soil."

"It's an overrated job anyway."

"Well, it's on the list."

At that, Kate's irritation dimmed enough for her to laugh. "Are you serious? Sarah actually wrote that down?"

Jason's wife Sarah was an adorable little redhead who had a habit of making lists whenever she got stressed out. Last month Sarah had made the mistake of watching a very explicit birthing video and now she lived in fear of her due date, hyperventilating every time the baby dared to kick. It didn't help that Jason, the future doctor, kept reprimanding her how stress was bad for the baby.

So to help calm herself, Sarah had taken to making all sorts of baby-related lists. They had started out innocent enough. Baby names, things the baby would need when they brought it home from the hospital, babysitters, daycares. Then she'd moved on to schools. Primary, middle, and high to be exact. Then she had rounded up a selection of colleges based on ranking and location. When she had finished with that, she'd moved on to possible careers.

When Jason had commented about how she might be getting a little ahead of herself, Sarah had chucked her pen at his head. The ink stain on his temple had taken two weeks to fade away.

He wisely hadn't questioned her again.

Jason sighed, that one sound somehow managing to suck out all the light-heartedness that had managed to seep into the conversation.

"He wants to make amends, Kate," he said quietly. "Maybe it's time you let him."

"There is nothing he could say or do that would make it up to me."

"Then do it to keep the peace. Mom would want that."

"Don't tell me what Mom would want," Kate snapped. "You don't know any better than I do. For all we know, she would've rather made _pieces_ out of him. I'm more inclined to believe _that_ then believing Mom would just call _pax_."

Through the phone she heard Jason sigh again, and she knew her brother was pinching the bridge his nose with his thumb and forefinger the way he always did when he was frustrated. His wire-framed glasses would be knocked askew and his big brown eyes would be squeezed shut as he fought for patience. Here was the crux of every argument they had about their father: Forgiveness. Her brother offered it while Kate did not.

Maybe it was because Jason was simply a more compassionate person than Kate was. He did work in the medical field after all, the desire to heal others was in his very nature. But Kate thought it had more to do with the fact that, as a man, he just couldn't properly conceive the depth of betrayal that had wracked their mother at their father's abandonment. That was something only Kate, as a woman, could understand fully.

"Regardless of what Mom would have wanted to do with him," Jason said, pressing on, "I know she wouldn't like this bitterness that you carry around on her behalf. And that is what you're doing, Kate."

"I am not bitter!" she exclaimed, stung. Her brother had never criticized her so bluntly before. It hurt. A lot.

"You don't date. You haven't had a real date in over five years."

"Because I'm a travel journalist, Jason! It doesn't exactly lend itself to long-term relationships."

"Because you don't want one."

"Damn it, that's not fair! Just because I've decided to focus on my career does not mean I'm bitter about men!"

"If focusing on your career was really the reason than I would agree with you," her twin said. "But that's not why and you know it. Face it, Kate. You're scared of men. You're cynical because of what happened to Mom and you travel around as an excuse to avoid any complicated relationships where you might have to actually trust a guy."

"You're a intern, not a psychologist," Kate snapped.

"Don't need to be, it's obvious." A pause. "Go to lunch with him, Kate."

"You can't just order me around," she hissed. "You're not my father."

"No, you're father is in Rome praying his only daughter doesn't stand him up on Father's Day," Jason said, and hung up.

* * *

"You came!"

Kate tried not to grimace at the relief she heard in her father's voice or the complicated feelings of guilt and resentment it aroused inside of her. She'd spent half the night arguing with herself over whether or not she should come, and because of it she was tired and even grumpier about being here then she would have been already.

He stood at her approach, but before he could move around the small, circular table and do something horrible, like try to hug her, she quickened her pace and plunked down into the empty chair across from his. It was metal and not well padded, and her hasty sitting hurt her butt bone, but better a bruise than any unwanted displays of affection.

Paul remained standing another few awkward seconds, but then took his seat as well and gave her an encouraging smile over the breadbasket. The restaurant he had picked was small but cozy; one of those cute little bistros that transcended the stereotype with their great food and welcoming atmosphere, though there was currently nothing welcoming coming from Kate's side of the table.

"I didn't bring you a gift," she said by way of hello.

He waved off what he probably thought was an apology. "That's okay. It's a gift enough that you came."

_Damn straight_ , Kate thought, and knew her brother would have called it a miracle.

A server appeared beside their table, a heavy red-cloth menu in his hand. "A menu, Miss?"

She started to take it then stopped. "Do you happen to serve margherita pizza here?" she asked. It was the country of pizza after all.

" _Sí_ , the best," the server said with pride.

"Then I'll have two slices of that."

"I'll have the same," Paul replied. "And a bottle of red wine, whichever one you think best."

**"** _Molto buono_." The server gave them a brief bow, nor more than a low nod, then turned and trotted off towards the kitchen. The place was small and filled with about a dozen tiny, intimate tables, most of them taken since it was two in the afternoon and therefore high lunch hour. Their server had to stop several times in order to let others with food trays pass. Kate watched him go, hoping he would hurry. When the food came she could focus on eating and not have to talk too much. But until then…

"You look very beautiful," Paul said.

Kate fiddled self-consciously with the hem of her sundress. "Oh. Um, thank you."

She hated compliments. Not just from him but from anyone. They made her uncomfortable and most of the time weren't even true, especially when someone called her beautiful. She wasn't one of those annoying people who moaned and groaned about being ugly when they really weren't, but she knew the limits of her physical attractions, and there really wasn't anything beautiful about her. Her long brown hair was more bushy then curly, and her eyes were an unexciting color brown. She was on the short side of average at five feet four inches tall, and though petite, she had a round face that many had described to her as _cherubic_. Kate thought that was a nice way of saying she had a fat face, something she tried to compensate for by wearing minimal make-up, so as to not attract any more attention to it then the fatness already did.

"You look good too," she felt obligated to add. Her long pause before returning the compliment made her father chuckle.

"Why, thank you."

Unfortunately, he did look nice. Suave almost. Even when he was younger Paul had been businessman handsome. Her mother had kept a picture of him around for years, hidden in her sock drawer, and as a kid Kate used to sneak into her room sometimes to steal peaks at it. The compulsion usually came around her birthday. Kate had told herself that she looked only to make sure that the extra year she'd grown hadn't made her look any more like him, and for the most part it never had.

Her father had high cheekbones and chestnut-colored hair that was graying now in a respectable looking manner around his temples. He was tall, and though not very broad, carried himself with an almost regal grace that more than made up for his lack of shoulder width. He looked like a modern day king that had had peace during his entire lifetime of rule. She hated him for that. And even more for his eyes, which were a bright, twinkling green and contained a vitality that had long ago gone missing from those of her mother's, even before she had gotten sick with cancer. Every time Kate looked at him, she saw all he had lived with and all he had condemned her mother to live without. How was she supposed to get over that?

The server returned with their wine and poured them each a glass. Paul raised his as if to toast and Kate drank before he could manage it. If he said something stupid like, "To new beginnings," or, "To the best Father's Day a man could ask for," or something corny like that, she would lose it.

He looked put out for only a moment before he drank from his glass too.

At least the only similar feature about them was hair coloring, Kate thought. Thankfully everything else—her delicate features, her brown eyes, and her height—all came from her mother. Except her face. That came thanks to some recessive gene from a Georgia peach great-great-grandmother on her mother's side.

"Here."

Kate was pulled out of her musings about the fickleness of genetics as Paul set a square, white jewelry box down in front of her. With difficulty, she held back a scowl. The worst thing about their father's reemergence into their lives was his tendency to randomly send them gifts and expensive knick-knacks that were always more tacky than practical. Kate liked to joke that he suffered from fits of guilt, or "guilt attacks," and he thought getting them pricey trinkets would help make it all better. Maybe they helped _him_ , but all they did for Kate was make her feel even more awkward and resentful around him. As if she could be bought off!

"I told you I didn't get you anything," she said, proud that she managed to keep the irritation in her voice to a minimum.

"I know. I just wanted to get you something," he told her, looking both cheerful and a little bit sheepish, which told her that whatever was in the box was even more expensive than usual.

"But it's _Father's_ Day," she argued. "Isn't this a little, I don't know, backwards?"

"If it's Father's Day then that means I should get to do whatever I feel like doing," he said, as if anything ever stopped him from doing what he wanted anyway. "And today that includes giving my daughter a present. Now open."

Kate did scowl then, but at the determined looked on Paul's face she grudgingly lifted the lid of the box…and gasped.

There, lying on a bed of white velvet cushioning, was a ruby necklace. The jewel was the size of her eyeball and shaped like a teardrop. It was so big that the thin, gold chain it hung by looked much too fragile to hold its weight. Matching ruby earrings of the same shape, though slightly smaller, rested on either side above it.

"I can't," Kate said once she had found her voice. "This is too much. _No_." She emphasized her last word with a jerky shake of her head.

"I want you to have it," Paul insisted.

Kate shook her head again.

"Please, Katelyn. It's, well, it's important to me that you take it."

"Why?"

"Does it matter?"

"When it's something like this? Yeah, it matters." She locked gazes with him and gave Paul the most intimidating glare she could muster. "So tell me. The _truth_ ," she added, just in case he got any ideas.

Her father sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "Fine. The truth is… I bought that necklace for your mother."

Her intimidation flailed under the weight of shock that had just been dropped on it. "What?"

"I bought it right before," he explained. "Before… everything happened."

"By 'everything' are you referring to when you knocked Mom up, or when you left her because she was a stripper and you didn't want your family knowing you associated with someone like that?" Kate asked, feeling all the old anger she had managed to bottle up before coming to the restaurant starting to break free again.

"Both," Paul admitted, looking miserable. With his thin shoulders slumped as they were, a lot of his regality seemed to disappear.

A king now beaten. A king in exile.

"You have to know how ashamed I feel about running away like I did. But I was young and so foolishly caught up in appearances… I never meant to stay away as long as I did. But then I came here—"

"Escaping child support and shame—"

"And met Melissa—"

"A classy, rich woman who would _never_ take off her clothes for money—"

"And what with my job taking off and Ben being born—"

"You were just _so_ busy building up your perfect new life that you couldn't be bothered to worry about the poor, unfortunate stripper you impregnated and abandoned back in the States," Kate finished for him.

"I made a mistake," he whispered. "Is that so unforgivable?"

"Twenty years," Kate murmured. "It took you twenty years to come find us."

He nodded solemnly. "Too long, I know. My biggest regret in life, next to leaving your mother the way I did. Well, she might have died before I could make it up to her, but I'm not about to miss my chance to make it up to you and Jason."

"Who says you can?"

"Can I not?" It wasn't a come on for a dare, but a sincere and starkly vulnerable question. It would have been the height of childishness to answer no, but even knowing that, Kate had to struggle to hold the word in.

"You don't understand," she gritted out. "You keep asking for forgiveness when you don't know even half of what you're asking to be forgiven for."

"Then tell me," he said. "I want to know."

A lie. No one wanted to know how badly they had hurt those closest to them. No one _wanted_ that kind of list. _Tell me_ , he said. _Tell me. Tell me_. But how could Kate tell him and put even more guilt onto those weak shoulders of his? He was having a hard enough time with what he had, even she could see that. It's what angered her most of all. Because as much as she hated him for everything he'd done to her and her family, she pitied him his weakness just enough to hold back the truth, and it only increased her resentment all the more.

A poisonous situation if there ever was one.

At that moment, the server returned, pizza in hand. When he asked Kate to remove the jewelry box from the table so he could give them their food, she was so distracted that she scooped it up without thought, only realizing after she'd done so that she had inadvertently taken her father's gift.

Disgusted, she stood as soon as the waiter had gone and snatched up her purse, giving her dress an unconscious swipe to get out any wrinkles. She held out the box.

"I can't tell you everything your leaving did to us," she said to him. "And I can't do _this_ anymore either. I can't pretend to be okay with everything you put us through. Jason might be able to let it go, but I'm just not that big a person… and I don't think I'll ever be."

She gave the box a shake. A hint for him to take it.

Her father waved it away, saying in a defeated voice, "Keep it. I daresay you'll find something interesting to do with it."

What Kate wanted to do was smash it into his face. But other diners were watching them with varying levels of subtlety and she knew she had caused a big enough scene already. Short of dropping the box into the pizza, she was out of options.

With stiff movements, Kate stuffed the box into her purse, gave her father a curt nod goodbye, turned on her heel, and left the restaurant without a backward glance.

_Happy Father's Day_ , she thought bitterly.


	3. Chapter Two

"I am unsure about the wisdom of this plan," Hade's whispered, the marble floor and pillars of the temple making his words echo, despite his best efforts to keep quiet.

" _My_ plan, you mean," Persephone said, not even bothering to keep her voice down. She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you saying that I am unwise?"

The look of horror that overcame that handsome face when Hades realized how his statement had been construed was priceless.

"Not at all! But even the wisest of us have moments of, well…"

"Stupidity?"

"That is not the word I would have chosen," he said gruffly, and even though it was night and the temple unlit, she could see the slight blush that stained the Lord of the Dead's cheeks.

Persephone hid her smile. Teasing him was too much fun.

"You want to help your gladiator find love, don't you?" she asked him, pushing the conversation along. "You want him to be happy?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then who better to help us find a match for your gladiator than the goddess of love?"

Hades had no response to that, but he remained looking skeptical.

They reached the deepest part of the temple and came to a stop. In front of them, a beautiful marble statue rose gracefully up from the floor. At least three times their size, the statue of Aphrodite was flawless, her body somehow managing to look soft and luscious even in stone.

Persephone glanced over at Hades. He was still frowning, looking lost in unhappy thoughts.

She huffed and rounded on him, hands on hips. "Do you really not wish to do this?"

"I only remain concerned about disrupting the Fates' plan," he said defensively.

"I have already explained that to you," she told him. "And anyway, since when have you been so concerned with following the unknown desires of the Fates? As Lord of the Dead, you didn't seem too worried about that when you took me, goddess of spring, into the Underworld with you."

Hades had the decency to look embarrassed by that. "That was different."

"It was not. You did it out of want for love and it is for the same reason we do this now. If the Fates can forgive your transgression with the very seasons, surely they will be willing to overlook the tampering of the lives of a couple mortals. So, I will ask one last time: Do you wish to do this?"

She could almost hear the fires crackling in his mind as he thought it over. Her love was nothing if not practical.

Finally, he met her eyes and gave a single nod. "All right."

Persephone gave a happy clap along with a high, girlish squeal of excitement, looking, for a moment, more like a young maiden than a goddess. She hurried over to the statue and knelt at its feet where an empty clay pot laid waiting for offerings. Persephone set a short, fat candle in it instead and lit it with a careful flick of her fingertips. It would have been simpler to go directly to the goddess's home instead of calling her forth like a mortal priestess, but it was a rare night that the goddess of love went to bed alone, and at such a late hour Persephone dared not show up unannounced. She had walked in on one too many, well, _parties_ , to risk doing so tonight when she had Hades in tow. Best to give her immortal friend a call and let her come to them instead once she was decent.

"Goddess of love," Persephone chanted into the flame. "I ask you to appear so that you may help two immortal soul mates tend to the love of another. With all due haste I bid you come. Persephone, goddess of spring, and Hades, god of the Underworld, await you."

She blew gently on the flame until it turned a hot, iridescent blue, then snapped her fingers over it. The candle went out with a quiet _phwumf_. Persephone rose and returned to where Hades waited a few feet back. He was looking at the sculpture with open distaste.

"A temptress even in marble," he said as he eyed the stone figure dressed in nothing but shadows and moonlight. "Who commissioned such a statue? Would it have ruined her image to at least wear a _toga_?"

"You always were a prude," came a voice from behind them, and the Lord of the Dead jumped as if he had been zapped with one of his brother Zeus's lightning bolts.

A woman the exact likeness of the statue appeared from the shadows, a gown of sheer white silk wrapped about her body. Her hair was full, wavy, and reached almost to her knees, and was such an astounding color red that it made Persephone's silky blonde hair look washed out in comparison. If Hades had shown even the slightest interest in the goddess of love, Persephone might have felt jealous, but his look of disgust only increased at the sight Aphrodite.

"I am not a prude," he told her stiffly. "You are simply jealous that I ignored your advances all those decades ago."

"I remain wounded still," she agreed with a smile.

"You came much quicker than I thought you would," said Persephone.

"Well when I got your message that the god of the Underworld wanted to play matchmaker I was _dying_ to learn more." Aphrodite gave Hades a wink at the bad pun. He scowled at her. "So who is this lucky mortal you wish to aid?"

"It's a man by the name of Crispinus Agallon," said Persephone.

"The gladiator?" Aphrodite looked surprised.

"You've heard of him?"

The goddess of love's grin was wicked. "You could say that."

Persephone's eyes went wide at the implication, but she chose to ignore all the questions that bloomed inside her brain. It would be like an hour in Tartarus for Hades to listen to such talk and she wasn't cruel enough to put him through that. She would just have to ask Aphrodite for the details later when they were alone.

"Then you should understand why we want to help him," she said. "Hades believes that Agallon is lonely. A good love match is just the thing to lift his spirits, don't you agree?"

Aphrodite looked thoughtful. "Hmm. Yes, I think maybe you're right. He certainly seemed unsatisfied for all the success he had. Do you know, he actually charged me for sex when I visited him after one of his tournaments?"

" _You?_ " Persephone was shocked. "And you actually paid him?"

"I was, as they say, in disguise. And I asked around. Apparently he charges all the women who come to see him."

The question slipped free before Persephone could stop it. "Was it worth it?"

Her friend's lips curled. "Oh yes."

"I believe we were discussing how to find him a woman, not his sexual prowess," Hades admonished.

Persephone mentally shook herself. "Yes, of course." She turned to Aphrodite. "I don't suppose you could help us find someone for him? Someone to love him as much as I love my Hades?"

"And as much as I love my Persephone," Hades added, his expression softening into pure adoration.

Aphrodite lit up at the sight. "Oh _,_ I just knew you kids were perfect for each other," she cooed. "When your mother Demeter first came to me, Persephone, and told me that Hades had stolen you away, I told her it was true love working with you two. Of course, she still threw a fit and made all the crops die and winter reign until you came back, but still! I knew it would all work out and I was right."

"Yes, you were," Persephone agreed. "So does that mean you'll help us?"

"One soul mate for the gladiator coming up!" sang Aphrodite.

Waving her hands and mumbling a well-used chant, the goddess of love produced a small, round mirror. She looked into and gasped.

"What is it?" said Persephone, moving around so she could see too, Hades right behind her. As soon as they saw, they gasped as well. Instead of showing what should have been their reflections, Persephone found herself gazing down onto what looked like the city of Rome.

Only it wasn't the city at all.

"Where is that?" Persephone breathed in wonder.

There were more mortals walking around then she had ever seen in one place in her entire immortal life, and buildings so tall they seemed to reach halfway to the sky. Horseless chariots that were bigger, brighter, and shinier than any she could have ever dreamed of sped up and down the streets, going faster than any steed. It was all so impossible and yet undeniably there.

"Look," said Hades, pointing at a crumbling structure in the distance. As if the mirror knew what he wanted, the vision changed to show a close up of the edifice he had pointed to.

"It's the _Amphitheatrum Flavium_ ," Persephone said, feeling her throat close up with emotion at seeing such a grand mortal structure look so worn down.

"Old," said Hades, and Persephone had to agree. The coliseum looked absolutely ancient.

"You don't think this is, well, the future, do you?" she whispered.

"The future?" Hades echoed. The word made him frown, as if he didn't really like the idea. It was disconcerting to the goddess of spring as well.

"Well, you asked for a soul mate. There was no guarantee she would be found in the same century," Aphrodite huffed, though she looked just as shaken as they. Shivering, she waved a delicate pale hand over the mirror. "Show us the soul mate of Crispinus Agallon," she commanded it.

The scenery changed again. A redbrick building with little tables surrounding it appeared. A woman stomped out the front door of the shop. She was cute in a mortal sort of way. Long dark hair, big brown eyes, and a sweet, heart-shaped face. The _tunica_ she wore was too short for walking around public in, but no one around seemed overly shocked to see her out in it. Perhaps it was normal in her time to dress as such.

"She looks upset," Persephone observed.

"Maybe she is like our gladiator and simply lonely," Aphrodite suggested.

To Persephone's shock, Hades laughed.

"She could very well be lonely," he told the two goddesses when they shot him with reproachful looks. "But I've seen that expression many times before, and I assure you, loneliness is not what she is feeling currently. I'd say the more accurate emotion would be something closer to rage."

"She does appear to be looking for someone upon which to land a blow," Persephone agreed.

"It only makes her all the more perfect for our gladiator," Aphrodite said confidently. "He'll need a woman with whom he can spar."

"But if she's in the future. How do we get her to Crispinus?" the goddess of spring asked. She hadn't necessarily expected to find the female mortal in the same city, or even the same empire, but for the gods' sakes was it too much to ask that she be born within the same time period?

Aphrodite winked at her, looking not at all worried about this not-so-little complication.

"Leave it to me," she said. "I will see to it that she is deposited directly to him."

With that, she waved away her mirror—which dissipated as easily as smoke—and gave the two immortals an encouraging smile before disappearing as well.

"I guess we should return home and wait for news that she's done it," Persephone said.

"That sounds like a good idea." Hades agreed, but she noticed as they started towards the temple's exit that he was frowning again.

"What's wrong?" she asked him. "Having regrets already?"

"No," he assured her. "I was just wondering."

"What?"

He slanted her a sideways look. "About this 'paying for sex thing'… "

Persephone smothered a grimace. "Yes?"

He thought over his words a minute, and the goddess of spring had just enough time to start seriously regretting having brought the question up at all when he said, "If I were to charge you for my services, would you consider it, as you said, 'worth it'?"

Persephone couldn't help it, she laughed and threw herself into his arms. Hades caught her easily and accepted the passionate kiss she offered him. When they broke apart, she laughed again.

"More than worth it," she assured him. "In fact, goddess or no, I probably wouldn't be able to afford it, because for the quality of your um, work, you could definitely charge a fortune."

"Indeed?" Hades said, and she could see the air around them begin shimmer with the heat of his pleasure.

"Indeed," Persephone echoed and kissed him again. It took them a lot longer to pull away from each other that time, and both were breathless when they finally they did so.

"You know," she gasped as Hades began trailing kisses down her throat. "Home is quite a ways away and we never did leave an offering for Aphrodite."

"It would be rude to go without giving an offering after everything she's done for us," Hades agreed, nipping at her collarbone. "What should we offer her?"

Maybe a— _ah_! A display of our love?" Persephone suggested, stuttering as Hade's hand slid up her body to cup her breast. "She is the goddess of love, after all."

"A wise plan," Hades murmured against her ear, sucking playfully on the lobe. The goddess of spring shivered

"Even wiser than my first one, huh?" she teased, reaching down to stroke him through his robes.

Hades growled. "Infinitely wiser."

And with that, he carried Persephone back into the goddess of love's temple to begin on their offering.

* * *

All Kate wanted to do was go back to the hotel, order a strong drink, and curl up in bed for a good long afternoon of self-pitying and father bashing.

But she couldn't.

Because she was reviewing the hotel, everyone who worked there would be keeping an eye out for her, and God only knew what they would try to do to accommodate her—AKA suck up—if they saw her in the current state she was in.

No, she couldn't return upset. It would be unprofessional. She needed to find a way to work off all the extra adrenaline she had first. It probably wouldn't make her feel much better, but she'd be a lot calmer, and then she'd be able to deal with any of the hotel staff waiting to ambush her when she returned.

The answer came to her almost immediately: Jason. As far as she was concerned, he was the one responsible for this whole mess, why shouldn't he bear the brunt of the upset it caused her? By the time she got through with him, he wouldn't dare guilt-trip her into doing something with their father ever again.

Kate crossed the street to an empty bus stop bench and took a seat. She had a lot to say to her dear brother about his meddling and it would take a good long while to get through it all. She might as well make herself comfortable.

She pulled her cell phone from her purse and punched in the number, glad she had finally managed to correctly memorize it. The cell wasn't hers, but one she had on loan from the hotel. _Her_ cell was in the hotel room safe, unusable. Apparently her cell phone provider didn't care for Italy, because her phone refused to work here. Luckily her hotel was up on this kind of thing and had cell phones you could rent out for a reasonable price. It was a tidbit she was definitely going to put in her final article.

Jason didn't pick up, but his voice mail message had changed. Instead of an awkward request for Kate to leave her name and number, his voice came on loud and excited, and it was immediately clear why:

"Sarah's in labor! _With our first child!_ So I'll be out of touch for awhile. _We're having a baby!_ Please leave your message and I'll get back to you when I can. _I'm gonna be a father!_ "

There was beep, signaling a shocked Kate to leave her message. She choked back all the anger she had been about to unleash and fought for a lighter tone as she said, "Hey, Jason. It's me, Kate. I just wanted to tell you… well, never mind. Congratulations about the baby. Call me when you can, okay?"

She hung up. Well, that changed things. She couldn't very well berate her twin while his wife was delivering his child. And she didn't want to. She was happy for them, would probably be ecstatic if she weren't so pissed about what just happened with Paul. But now what was she supposed to do? She was still angry and now she had no one to take it out on.

Feeling gypped, she put the phone away and stood. Maybe a walk would help. She could take the day off and play tourist. She had been here a couple times before, but it had always been a fly in, fly out job, for obvious reasons. She'd never had time to really explore the city before. It felt weird being able to now.

So, where did a tourist go in Rome?

Her eyes drifted as if by magnetism up the road to a colorfully tacky sign that gave directions to the Roman Coliseum.

Bingo.

* * *

The place was huge. Kate wasn't sure why that surprised her, but it did. Even in its ruined state, it was one of the most impressive structures she'd ever had the honor of visiting. It reminded her of an ancient football stadium, only much, much grander. It stood four stories tall, the walls of three of those stories made up mostly of stone arches and columns. It was oval in shape, and if she was remembering her history right, it had dozens of underground passageways and secret trapdoors below the arena.

Just being here settled her nerves, which was odd since it was crawling with other tourists and had a history as violent as any war field. Peace should have been the last thing she felt here, but she did, and Kate was glad she had decided to come.

" _Salve_!"

Kate jumped. A tall, redheaded woman stood beside her; Kate hadn't even heard her approach. The woman was stunning, and was clothed in what appeared to be traditional Roman dress. A… _toga_ , she thought it was called. It was pure white and fairly sheer, an erotic combination, especially on a female as perfect as this one was. She was thin but curvy, tall but still somehow came across as dainty. Her lips were full, her eyelashes long and thick. Her eyes were a blue-violet color that Kate knew had to be from contacts. The overall package was astounding, which was probably why everyone around them was openly gaping at her, men and women.

"Wow, you're really into this aren't you?" Kate said. Shad seen several people dressed in costumes wandering around, but this woman had gone above and beyond when it came to authenticity. Again, Kate took in the toga. Any thinner and it would be considered indecent… if it wasn't already.

The woman blinked at her with the smallest of frowns, then her expression lightened and she exclaimed, " _Sic_! I am."

Her accent was thick, and she spoke slowly as if unsure of her words. Kate could understand that. She always tried to remember certain key phrases when she traveled to non-English speaking countries, but it was still hard to keep them straight sometimes.

"Come." The beautiful redhead took Kate by the arm and tugged her towards the coliseum's entrance.

"What are you doing?" Kate asked, startled.

"Help you."

"You're a tour guide?"

" _Sic_. Come."

_I guess that means yes_ , Kate thought. For a tour guide she was awfully pushy.

"Shouldn't we wait until there are more people?" Kate asked as the woman pulled her along. "I mean, don't these tours usually happen in groups?"

"Only you," the woman said.

Kate wondered how interesting a tour with only her and a guide who barely spoke English was likely to be. Not very, she was guessing.

The redhead led her through the entrance, and Kate gasped at the towering blocks of stone that rose up around her and surrounded the field below. Which, Kate realized as she looked closer, wasn't really a field so much as a pit of walls that wound into what had to be the remnants of the underground corridors she had heard about. A metal walkway had been set up so you could walk across and get a better look at everything below, but her tour guide steered her away from there and instead pulled her through a nearby archway and towards a set of stairs that led down into one of the few remaining lower levels.

Kate balked. "Hey, I didn't get to see the—"

" _Hic,_ " said the woman, cutting her off. "This way."

Becoming irritated with the woman's pushiness, Kate nevertheless let herself be dragged downward, an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. The peace she had been experiencing only moments ago was gone and an acute feeling of foreboding had taken its place. She hadn't seen anyone else come this way; none of the other tourists had come anywhere near it. Was this some sort of behind-the-scenes thing? But Kate hadn't asked for that, and now that she thought about it, she hadn't paid the woman yet either. Didn't tour guides usually demand the money up front?

Her tour guide didn't so much as pause when they reached the bottom of the stairwell. She turned left and led Kate down a narrow tunnel. The floor was uneven and what little of the wall Kate could make out through the darkness looked very unstable—She could actually hear the trickle of loose pebbles in the distance.

_Someone should really look into that,_ she thought.

Pitch-black entryways opened up every few feet, but they were going too fast for Kate to try and make out anything inside of them. This woman was either the worst tour guide in history, or—and at this Kate's nervousness spiked—not a tour guide at all.

But that was ridiculous; she was just being paranoid. Kate had never liked small or dark spaces. The claustrophobic surroundings were just making her jumpy. All the same, Kate found herself taking smaller steps to try and force the woman to slow, but the redhead only gave a hearty jerk that nearly pulled Kate off her feet and kept going. When Kate abandoned subtlety and tried to pull her captured arm free, the woman held onto her tighter, saying, "Keep up. We go to him."

"Him?" Kate echoed, her rising anxiety mixing with her irritation at being dragged around like a dog refusing to heel. "Who are you talking about? And why are we down here? What is this, some kind of super-secret timeshare meeting or something?"

She had only been joking, but the tour guide's head snapped around and a crazy glint lit her eyes. " _Sic_ , time. We go!"

Kate tried to dig in her heels, but the woman was a lot stronger than she looked, and before Kate could really work up a good struggle the redhead had stopped in front of one of the darkened rooms and ducked inside, tugging Kate along behind her.

Pitch-blackness enveloped them, and real fear flared to life inside Kate. Something was definitely wrong.

"Let me go!" she cried, flailing in the darkness. "Whoever you want me to meet I'm not interested. Now let _go!"_

She pulled at the woman, fighting for freedom. In a minute, she was going to erupt into a full-blown panic attack. She didn't like not being able to see. And she didn't like being alone in a strange room, or in the company of an unknown woman who said she wanted Kate to meet some man. What if he was some kind of crazy rapist who had paid the redhead to bring Kate to him?

The _fake_ tour guide had started up a low, rhythmic chant that was definitely not English, or even Italian, and Kate was starting to wonder if those few, unfamiliar words the woman had spoken earlier had been Italian either. They had sounded off, but Kate had just attributed it to her accent and Kate's own foreignness. After all, who was she to judge the Italian language when she wasn't even from Europe? Now she sincerely wished she had.

The woman abruptly stopped chanting and released Kate's arm. Kate didn't stop to wonder why. She whirled and made a mad dash out of the room.

Only to smack face-first into a wall.

She stumbled back with a loud " _Oof!"_ The woman must have hit a light switch or something, because Kate could see fine now and she realized that she hadn't hit a wall at all but a closed wooden door. The fake tour guide must have knocked it shut after coming in.

Kate tried the handle.

Locked.

At least she could see now. That calmed her enough that, for the moment at least, anger trumped fear. Kate turned back around to demand that the crazy woman unlock the door and let her out, but speech became impossible at the sight of what met her eyes.

The room was lighted, not thanks to anything a switch controlled, but from a dozen or so torches set up in stone sconces along the room's walls. How the redhead had lit them all so fast Kate didn't know, but that was the least of her worries. Her tour guide—or whoever she was—was gone, and in her place was a man. A _big_ man. _The_ man, Kate was betting; the one the woman wanted her to meet.

He was seated at a small wooden table on the opposite side of the room, his back to her. In front of him was a pitcher that looked like it was made of copper. He picked it up and took several big chugs from it, setting it down with a sigh that was so forlorn it sounded odd coming from such a strong and powerful man.

And he _was_ powerful. Even though he wasn't facing her, it was obvious he was huge. Well over six feet and heavily muscled. His shoulders were so broad that if Kate tried to wrap her arms around him she doubted her fingers would be able to touch. His hair came to his shoulders and was made up of curl after dark blonde curl that she felt an instant stab of jealousy for. It was the kind of hair a girl could tangle her fingers in, soft and thick and perfect to hold onto while in the throes of passion. He had on a strange styled garment that _had_ to be a costume like the woman's. It looked almost like a masculine sundress, plain, and made out of a rough blue cloth with a leather belt around his waist to give it form. The hem of it ended a few inches above his knees, and it had wide, flared sleeves that reached his elbows. His feet were encased in a pair of worn leather boots. Even seeing them from across the room, Kate knew his feet would dwarf hers. Hell, his whole _body_ would dwarf hers. And if that wasn't a good enough reason to get the hell out before he noticed her and decided to do something about it, she didn't know what was.

As quietly as she could, Kate backed up towards the door. If she could just somehow unlock it before he saw her, then she was pretty sure she could outrun him. All that bulk had to slow the man down, right?

The level of the floor abruptly changed and Kate stumbled, the step from rug to stone throwing her off balance. She didn't remember walking over a rug when she first entered the room, but she had been distracted then and it had been dark.

She didn't have time to worry about the rug's appearance anyway. Her little stumble had caught the attention of her male roommate, who whirled around at the noise and pinned her with such an icy stare that for a minute she felt she had been well and truly frozen to the floor.

He was breathtaking in the most literal sense of the word; Kate actually had to force herself to continue sucking oxygen into her lungs. Passing out would be a very, very bad thing right now, no matter how tempting—and called for—it was.

The man had a strong, smooth jaw with tiniest of dimples in his chin and a nose that appeared to have been broken and reset several times, but which only gave his face more character instead of detracting from his handsomeness. His cheekbones were high and well sculpted, and he had the most incredible blue eyes she had ever seen, so pale they were almost silver. Those eyes raked her figure before locking onto her face, giving away not even a single flicker of emotion to let her know how he felt about her sudden presence.

He rose warily and—yep, she hadn't been wrong, this man was huge. Standing toe-to-toe with him, she'd probably have just enough height to glare at his collarbone. Her anger beat a hasty retreat. There was nothing left but terror now.

"You're not here to talk about timeshare plans, are you?" she asked, her tone light even as her heart pounded with a dangerous intensity inside her chest.

He didn't answer her. He just stood there, staring… judging.

She made another visual sweep of his body, and her gut clenched when she spotted the sword at his hip. A _sword_ for crying out loud!

That was when Kate knew that whatever was going on here, she was very, very screwed.


	4. Chapter Three

Crispinus had told the guards not to let any more women into his chambers today, and yet here was another one, standing there with a stunned expression on her face as if she had just been smacked with the flat side of a broadsword. He was used to getting similar looks from women who came to see him—that look of awe and disbelief. But that was usually tempered with a great deal of lust. From the look in this female's eyes, any lust she might be feeling was overshadowed by a great deal of fear.

Of course, Crispinus knew his body was impressive—he was confident enough to admit that—but surely she had seen him during the games and had come with at least an inkling about the might of his presence up close? He was a champion gladiator, after all; he didn't get to where he was by being small and weak. His handsomeness, combined with his overwhelming strength, was the only reason women flocked to him. It sure as Hades wasn't because of his social or monetary status.

But there she stood, all but trembling at the sight of him, and he found that it irritated him, since she didn't seem the kind of woman to normally tremble about anything. There was a proud tilt to her jaw and a rigidity to her stance that made her look commanding and strong despite her diminutive size. He would have thought she came from royalty if not for her clothes, which were shockingly provocative in how much skin they revealed. It was something a woman of high birth would never wear. At least not while out in public.

But she _was_ attractive in an understated sort of way, with a figure that was petite and yet still full enough to retain those prized feminine curves that marked her as the woman she was. Her face was almost perfectly round with plump, rosy cheeks that looked as soft as the skin of a ripened fruit. It made him want to pull her close so he could suck and nip at that tender flesh and see if it tasted as sweet as it looked.

That thought, as small as it was, left him, a gladiator, feeling weak from shock. It had been _years_ since Crispinus had wanted to do anything with a woman's body besides spread her wide and fuck her senseless. The sweet caresses, the loving whispers, they were wasted on the women he bedded after tournaments, and he had long ago learned to keep the tender touches and compliments well-leashed when he took one of them to his private chambers. Women wanted a gladiator. A man who was strong and virile and just a little bit scary. Someone who could fuck them hard and good and maybe even give them a bastard baby of superior breeding that they could pass off as their husband's own with no one the wiser—not even the husband. They didn't want his loyalty and affections, not in the bedroom and certainly not outside of it. Women were heartless, deceitful. It was a lesson hard-learned, but after so many years of experience he had not only mastered his more sentimental urges towards the fairer sex, he had stopped having them altogether. But this woman… She brought to the surface of his heart a myriad of longings he had thought had died long ago, and he had a sudden overwhelming urge to take her, to make love to her the way a man _should_ make love to a woman. To lavish her with passion in a way he had dared not do with the others.

And she was terrified of him.

The irony rankled. Why would she come all the way down here only to freeze up in terror at the sight of him? And why did the _one_ woman he found himself genuinely attracted to have to be the one woman who didn't want him?

She spoke then, and Crispinus was surprised to find that he couldn't understand what she was saying. She certainly wasn't speaking Latin or any of the other languages he'd learned in his travels around the Empire. Was it some sort of trick? Was she mocking him somehow? She certainly sounded blasé enough, but he saw how her hands shook as she clutched at the strange leather bag that hung from her shoulder, how her eyes darted towards the door as if wondering if she could make it out before…

Crispinus suddenly had an ugly thought: what if this was just another game? What if she was the kind of woman who liked to play the fearful maiden who got ravaged by the ferocious gladiator? She certainly wouldn't be the first one.

The realization was so disappointing it came like a physical blow. A woman he truly wanted and she was just like all the rest. Games, lies, deceit. It never ended with them. And this one had to be the worst. Her fear seemed so genuine, her foreign words so authentic sounding. She had slipped under the armor around his heart just by standing there, and he had let her do it. It was worse than disappointing—it was humiliating.

Well, he thought, if she wanted to use him then he'd do the same thing with her. It was only fair, since he knew with every fiber of his being that though this meant little to her, something to be done as an amusement and maybe bragged about to the right people at parties before being forgotten about completely, he would never forget meeting her. Not if he lived to fight in a hundred more tournaments, not if he fucked a thousand more women. She wanted to play games? Fine, he'd play. And though she'd win in the end, he was going to make sure he walked away with a damn good conciliatory prize.

Faster than she could react, he leapt forward and snagged her by the front of her outlandish _tunica_ , pulling her close so that she was flush against him. She screamed and yelled more words that he didn't recognize, beating at his chest with her small fists. But he wasn't going to let himself be fooled. Damn her. Damn them all!

With his free hand he cupped the back of her neck, getting a good fistful of her thick brown hair so he could tug her head back and force her to look up at him. Big brown eyes that looked so guileless stared back at him. The fear in them seemed so sincere, but he was smarter than that.

He slanted his mouth over hers, neatly cutting off a fresh scream that she had been about to unleash. Her hands pushed ineffectually against him. He held her up by her tiptoes, and he could hear her feet scrabbling to find better purchase. Crispinus ignored her fake struggles and thrust his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, then devouring her, then demanding even more. He willed her to cease her game and give in, to let him have her like he knew she secretly wanted. Like he knew _he_ wanted.

The knowledge was bitter but undeniable. Why? Why did he have to want her? What was so damn different about her that just being in the same room with her made him feel fuller, more complete? He didn't deserve to be so fiercely attracted to someone so hateful, someone so uncaring. Someone who would leave him the minute his seed erupted from his body and into hers. And yet, his heart skipped a beat when she finally began to still. Her hands stopped pushing and instead grabbed hold of his _tunica_ and held on tight. The quietest of moans slipped past her lips and Crispinus had to admit that he had never felt such triumph as he did feeling her concede to him. Not even in the arena when the odds had been against him seven to one.

He pulled back and gazed down at the woman, watching as she slowly blinked open those beautiful eyes of hers as if emerging from a deep trance. Her grip on his clothes loosened and her breathing—which had been one beat slower than a pant—steadied to a calmer rhythm.

"You enjoyed that didn't you, beautiful?" Crispinus murmured, feeling smugger than the situation probably called for, but unable to help it.

He expected her to agree with him, to give up the foreign act and beg him to make love to her immediately. That was how it worked in the past. Instead, the drowsy satisfaction on her face burned away so quickly at his words that he wondered what he'd said wrong. The fear that had been wiped away by his kiss came roaring back to life and she began her fights for freedom anew, her struggles even more violent.

"Cease with your games, woman!" he bellowed at her, losing his patience entirely. When she began to whimper in that same foreign language of hers, a sick feeling of doubt began grow and uncurl inside his gut. Was it possible that she _wasn't_ acting? But then how did she wind up in his room? And why was she dressed in such provocative clothing? How could someone who looked so absolutely clueless and afraid even get inside the coliseum walls without a male escort? _What_ _in Hades_ _was she doing here!_

Something heavy and flat hit him. Crispinus looked down to see that the woman had managed to pull an object out of her bag and press it to his chest. Without thinking, he let her go to catch what she had forced upon him before it could fall. The woman used the moment of freedom to make a break for the door. She needn't have bothered. The locked clicked and door flew inward, revealing one of the guards, breathing hard and looking angry. Crispinus had never spoken directly to the man, but knew by word of mouth that his name was Aleron.

"Who screamed?" the guard demanded, his gaze jumping from Crispinus to the woman and back again.

Crispinus opened his mouth to explain, but before he could, the woman was yelling, rattling on and jabbing a shaking finger in his direction. Her words made no more sense than anything else she'd said so far, but the point was clear: she was trying to tell the guard what Crispinus had just done.

_By the gods_ , he'd misunderstood the whole situation! And now she probably thought he had been trying to force himself on her! Guilt for his actions mingled with remorse at having scared her so badly, while at the same time a small part of him mourned the loss of something that had never been. If she had been being deceitful then at least he would've had her. Now though, it was clear that she wanted nothing to do with him—never had.

"What is she saying?" Aleron demanded. He glared at the woman, cutting her off mid-rant. "Speak Latin, woman! I can't understand you. How did you get down here?"

She rambled on some more, her words sounding increasingly desperate as she went on. The fact that the guard couldn't understand her was obviously distressing her just as much as not understanding _her_ was irritating _him_.

" _Silence!_ I don't speak gibberish," he yelled, and made a move to grab her. Crispinus instinctively reached for his blade. It was a foolish gesture. He would be beaten or even put to death for killing a guard, especially one who was just doing his job. But the thought of him laying a hand on the woman made something primal inside Crispinus growl in warning. If Aleron hurt her….

He needn't have worried though. The woman was onto the whole rush-and-grab trick after having just gone through it with Crispinus. She dodged the guard's hand with a high-pitched squeak and jumped around him through the doorway. She didn't even look back as she took off down the hall and out of sight. The echo of her footsteps told Crispinus she was making a run for the stairs.

Aleron didn't follow.

Crispinus made a move to go after her himself, but stopped. He'd never catch her now and anyway, the guards wouldn't let a gladiator still in the service of his master simply leave the coliseum unattended. He'd have to fight them and what would be the point? To go after a woman who wanted nothing to do with him?

"What the hell was that about?" said Aleron.

"A misunderstanding." He be damned if he was going to admit his humiliation to the guard.

Aleron snorted. "Yeah. Right." He gestured to Crispinus. "What is that?"

Crispinus frowned and looked down at where the guard was pointing. He was still holding what the woman had given him. She'd probably meant it as a distraction. _Or a bribe_ , he thought, feeling his wounded pride throb. A woman had never given him something so he would _stop_ kissing her.

It looked to be a white chest of some sort, though what it was made of he wasn't sure. It wasn't hard enough to be stone and yet wasn't soft enough to be made of cloth. One side of it had two small hinges more intricate than any he had ever seen before and made out of what looked like gold. Whoever had fashioned this chest must be a master craftsman; Crispinus had never seen anything so fine.

Carefully, he pried the miniature chest open. It was stiff and only parted halfway, but that was more than enough to see what was inside of it, and the sight made him suck in a breath. A ruby and gold necklace, larger and more grand than any he had ever seen, rested on a bed of cloth that felt almost like animal fur that had been close-cropped. Matching ruby earrings rested on either side of it.

Where had the woman gotten such an exquisite piece of jewelry? Guilt hit him anew that she had been desperate enough to part with such a treasure just for a chance to get away from him. A necklace like this could provide Crispinus with enough money to see himself fed and housed in moderate comfort for half a decade at least. Of course, that meant nothing while still under ownership of Cato. But with this… maybe, finally, he could buy back his freedom. His three years of indentured servitude were up—more than up—but Cato had always made sure to keep Crispinus poor enough that he could never afford to pay for his official release. It had never bothered him much before. Crispinus hadn't wanted to leave anyway. His life had revolved around the arena—the constant struggle to survive, the cheering fans when he emerged triumphant. Most gladiators died or retired by the age of twenty-five, but here Crispinus was, pushing thirty, and still fighting—fighting for something he no longer cared about and for people he could no longer stand. Maybe this was a sign from the gods that his life at the Colosseum was over and he'd be wise to make a change before something irreversible happened to him in battle. He could return home. Maybe help his brother with the crops or strike out on an entirely new adventure.

Yes, it felt right. Though not as right as it had felt to have that woman in his arms. He hadn't even gotten her name. Well, whoever she was, however she'd happened upon him, he wouldn't forget her. And if the fates were feeling meddlesome, perhaps he'd run into her again. But until then, he had his own life to see to, and this necklace was going to help him do it.

Decided, Crispinus snapped the strange jewelry chest shut and faced the guard, who was watching him through narrowed eyes. From the angle he was standing in, Aleron had been unable to see what was inside the box, and Crispinus could tell it was killing him not to ask about it. Too bad. As far as he cared, the man could suffer in his curiosity forever.

Crispinus took a breath, pulled himself up to his full height, and shot the guard his most intimidating glare that he saved for his killing blows in the arena. "Take me to Cato."

* * *

Kate stood in the middle of the street, the sun fading fast behind the hills to the west, and wondered over the three things all people wonder over when suddenly faced with an impossible and incomprehensible situation: 1) I've died and gone to limbo or hell; 2) I've gone crazy and I'm hallucinating; or 3) I've been hit by a (name a mode of transportation) and am now in a coma, dreaming.

But as very much as she wanted to accept one of those explanations for what was going on now, none of them seemed particularly plausible, since her last moments of Normal had been out in front of the ruins of the coliseum— _ruins_ , she stressed with a glance behind her, where the building in question stood, now fully erect and without the slightest hint of wear—and she just couldn't convince herself that either of those three things had happened to her.

She didn't remember dying; she had been whole and well less than an hour ago—with no buses, cars, or even a stray Vespa in sight—and though she had been thinking about her father, a subject certainly capable of driving a person insane, she hardly believed her mentally faculties could suddenly fail her so completely.

Though she had to admit, it _had_ been insanity that made her respond to that man's kiss like she had. What had she been thinking? Some huge, angry man physically assaults her and she just gives in because it happens to _also_ be the best kiss she's ever had, from the most handsome man she's ever met? That was _not_ a good enough reason! Wasn't, wasn't, _wasn't!_

If she could have grounded her hormones, she would have; they at least needed a time out. Men who attacked her were _not_ deserving of her affections, no sir. That was like rewarding for _very_ bad behavior. But had her hormones remembered that? Of course not. If he hadn't started speaking in that weirdo language of his, she might not have snapped out of it and pushed Paul's necklace at him like she had in an effort to divert his attention and get away.

When that other strange man had showed up, she'd thought for sure she was saved. But he'd spoken just as strangely, had been dressed just as wrongly, and when he tried to grab her just like the other man, Kate had panicked and ran. She thought she's at least be safe once she got outside and could find a policeman or something. She glared at the city surrounding her. _Or not._

She felt like she had been dropped into the middle of the set of _Gladiator_. People on chariots and horses raced about past crowds of pedestrians dressed like her fake tour guide. Some carried baskets of fruit, others drifted around admiring the wares being sold at the wooden stalls lining the now cobbled-instead-of-asphalt street. The streetlights were gone; the stop signs; the lampposts. All the buildings were made out of brick or marble and held up by multiple pillars. There was absolutely nothing familiar about the world around her, and Kate was at an utter loss. If she hadn't known better, she'd think she was somehow in ancient Rome. But that was impossible.

Wasn't it?

_Yes!_ It was!

Maybe her sanity really was slipping.

She pushed the thought of _where_ she was aside for the moment and focused on what she should do instead. Should she go back inside the coliseum? Should she try and find that redhead? If anyone could explain what was going on, Ms. I'm-not-really-a-tour-guide should.

Kate made no move to start looking, however. Where should she start? And what would she do once she found the woman? After she had beaten her senseless, that was.

She must have stood there worrying a lot longer then she'd meant to, because the next time Kate looked around she noticed that the streets had emptied quite a bit, the crowd presumably heading in for the night.

This started a whole new set of worrying: What was she going to do if she couldn't figure this mess out before full dark came? Where was she going to stay? The only thing of any value she had was that necklace, and her handsome attacker had it now. No way was she going to go ask for it back. She had some cash and credit cards with her, but she was pretty sure they were worthless now. She was, for all intents and purposes, broke, homeless, and alone.

She was just beginning to feel the utter hopelessness of that statement when she noticed three men walking towards her. Their clothes were a dark brown that matched the dirt staining their faces and legs, and they were eyeing her in a way that made her feel vulnerable and exposed. The swords strapped to their waists didn't help either. The weapons weren't as long as the one her curly-headed attacker had, but a sword was a sword in her book, and she didn't want to get near anybody who had one.

Kate swept a glance up and down the street, trying to find any place that might be considered a safe haven where she could hide until they were gone. But there was nothing and the only other people left hanging around were those who looked just as cold as the men approaching her.

She took up a brisk walk down the street in the opposite direction from the men and the trio simultaneously broke into a fast trot after her. At that, Kate gave up all pretense of acting nonchalant and bolted, wishing she hadn't picked this day to leave her pepper spray in her hotel room.

* * *

"No. I won't do it."

Crispinus resisted the urge to strangle the man in front of him with difficulty. "This isn't debatable, Cato. I've served my three years. Several times, in fact."

"Exactly! You've been in my employ for over a decade. You belong in the arena. Whatever has convinced you otherwise will pass."

"It won't."

Cato made a scoffing noise. "It will. A gladiator like you doesn't just stop fighting. That's not the type of person you are. Death is in your blood; it is your fate."

"Then I'm changing it."

" _No!_ " Cato released the word with so much force his whole body trembled. "You will die in the arena! It is what is meant to be. You cannot escape your destiny so easily."

Crispinus fought back the urge to shiver at the words. The man's passionate declaration only confirmed his belief that leaving was the right thing to do.

"It is not my destiny I am escaping; it is your greed. I won't fight anymore."

A malicious little smile curled his master's lips. "You can't go. You haven't the money to buy your freedom."

_Only because you cheat me out of every denarii that you can_ , Crispinus thought furiously, but he returned the smile and tossed the man the small white chest. "I do now."

Cato caught the chest and opened it. His gray eyes bulged and Crispinus was reminded of a starving lion that had just found a limp and overweight gazelle. It was the necklace. _Only_ the necklace. Crispinus had removed the earrings before entering the room.

"How did you get this?" Cato's already tiny eyes narrowed into slits, making him look like a furious snake.

Crispinus waved off his suspicion. "It doesn't matter. I'm giving it to you to buy my freedom. Accept it."

With what looked like a great deal of effort, Cato snapped the chest shut and shook off his awe, replacing it with a look of indifference that Crispinus didn't buy for a second.

His master rose from his favorite gilded chair—it had been given to him by a close friend of the Emperor's—and circled the stone table separating them, dragging the chest along the tabletop with the tips of his thick, calloused fingers. His dirt-encrusted nails looked yellow next to the pure white of the chest.

Once he was standing in front of Crispinus, he slouched so that his backside rested against the edge of the tabletop, a blatant if silent show of who held the power. When he raised his head to look at the gladiator, it was with a calm impassiveness that was just as dangerous as any show of rage he might have mustered.

Finally, he answered. "It's not enough."

" _What_?" This time Crispinus actually reached out to grab the man, and it was only by sheer force of will he managed to make himself stop. "What do you mean, 'it's not enough?' It is more than enough."

"I don't think so." The smile Cato gave him now was pure satisfaction. "Tell you what though. I will keep this necklace here in my safekeeping, and when you have a little bit more gold, we'll talk then."

"No." Crispinus stepped forward and held out his hand. "If it is not enough then return the necklace to me and I will find something else. I will not leave such a precious piece of jewelry in your care. I am not that foolish."

"It stays with me."

"It doesn't." A haze of injustice-filled rage threatened to cloud his vision and Crispinus drew his sword, knowing that if anyone were to walk in and witness what was happening he would be killed on the spot. At least, they would try. Crispinus hadn't survived over a decade in the arena only to die here in the meeting room of his greedy master. He was tired of being used. Tired of being cheered for in the arena and then spit on in the street. Tired of women craving his body but shunning his heart. Tired of being swindled out of every ounce of gold he made—gold he paid for literally with sweat and blood—and he'd be damned if he was going to let himself be cheated out of any more.

Though a former gladiator himself, Cato had long ago lost any useful amount of muscle mass and now looked more like those fat blobs in the senate. He didn't even have fast enough reflexes to draw his weapon before Crispinus was upon him, grabbing him by the front of his robes and prodding him in the gut with his sword. Cato stood at a perfect six feet, forcing him to look up in order to meet Crispinus's eyes. It was something Crispinus knew had always infuriated him.

"I could cut you down right here and take the necklace _and_ my freedom," Crispinus whispered to him.

"You wouldn't make it out of the Colosseum alive."

"No?" Crispinus laughed. "I am the undefeated gladiator of Rome, Cato. Any who didn't drop their swords in fear of me I could easily dispatch myself. And even if I couldn't, that still wouldn't save _you_ now, would it? And we both know how much you cherish this shallow life of yours." He pressed the tip of his sword a little deeper into his master's flesh, smiling when the man winced. "Accept the necklace, Cato. Declare me free."

The sword pierced cloth and skin, causing a fat drop of blood to well up and make an inky red stain on the clean white fabric. Cato looked up at him with eyes full of hate.

"I declare you free," he whispered, but his tone was as malicious as if he were damning Crispinus to Hades.

Satisfied, Crispinus pulled away, but he didn't sheath his sword. At any time, Cato could change his mind and call for the guards. Crispinus wouldn't feel safe until he was out of the Colosseum. No, out of the city.

"For the years," Crispinus said, and bowed with all the respect he could muster. Then he left.


	5. Chapter Four

Crispinus stepped outside the amphitheatre an hour later, all his possessions either strapped to his body or slung over his shoulder in his sheepskin bag.

It was over. _Finally_. All the bloodshed, all the meaningless fighting was over. He was once again a free middle class citizen. It wasn't the greatest position, but it was incomparably better than that of a gladiator, a person who stood on equal footing with slaves.

A sense of peace he hadn't known since he was a boy swept over him, and for a minute he stood there, clothed in full battle regalia because it hadn't fit in his pack, simply basking in the moment. His future was wide open before him. Empty, but open. He would find something to fill it and pray to the gods that his second choice would not be as foolish as his first.

Then he heard the scream.

It tore through the early night, tore through the peace, and tore through his heart because he _knew_ who made it. He'd heard that voice less than an hour ago in his chambers.

Crispinus took off through the streets, trying to pinpoint a sound that could no longer be heard. A few pedestrians—most of them drunk—still populated the area, but they either hadn't heard the noise or chose to ignore it, because none so much as perked their heads in the direction the sound of distress had come from.

_Scream again_ , he silently urged her as he ran _. For your own sake, woman, scream again!_

She didn't, but suddenly he could hear the sounds of scuffling, grunts and whimpers, coming from one of the smaller temples in the square. He slowed and unsheathed his sword, not wanting to give away his presence until he had evaluated the situation thoroughly.

The woman was inside, sandwiched between a couple of dirty plebians. One was behind her, holding her still with his hand clasped over her mouth to prevent another scream from getting loose. The second one stood in front of her. He shoved her strange _tunica_ clear up to her neck, practically smothering her face with the fabric and leaving her body bare of everything except two odd strips of fabric, one that covered her breasts in a perfect mold and one that hugged her between the legs. The bastard appeared to be trying to undo the one covering her breasts. He cursed her as she continued to struggle, but stepped away after only a short moment at it.

Crispinus paused, thinking maybe he'd decided she was too much of an effort and was giving up. He even ordered his partner to release her. But the moment she was freed, he backhanded her, knocking the woman into the temple's statue. It was Clementia, the goddess of forgiveness and mercy. Crispinus hoped they had said their prayers to her, because they weren't going to find mercy from him.

As Crispinus strode forward, the one who had hit the woman kicked her in the side. The solid _thud_ sound that carried through the temple enraged Crispinus. He reached the young man before his second kick could make contact and whirled him around. He barely had time to register who was in front of him before Crispinus impaled him with his sword, burying the blade so deep it came clear out his back.

"You don't mess with a gladiator's woman, boy," he growled, and watched with satisfaction as the life bled from the plebian's eyes and he collapsed.

The first one didn't bother trying to avenge his friend's death. He took off towards the exit of the temple, not even looking back to see if Crispinus followed. Crispinus would have, but it wasn't necessary. He pulled a small dagger from his boot and threw it with deadly precision at the man's retreating form. It buried itself squarely in the back of the cowardly plebian's neck, killing him instantly. After thirteen years of fighting in the Colosseum, they hadn't stood a chance against him.

Crispinus scanned for any more lingering threats, anyone who might be hiding in the shadows, waiting for a chance to launch a surprise attack. When he was sure there was no one, he collected his dagger and refocused his attentions on the woman.

She had pulled down her _tunica_ so that she was fully covered again and sat pressed against the base of the statue, visibly shaking. Her dark eyes were wide and focused on him, showing plainly her relief that her attackers were dead, her fear that Crispinus might take over where they left off, and the desperate hope that he wouldn't. He'd never met a woman who gave so much away without saying a single word, but the emotions were as clear as white wine, and just as refreshing. Her beautiful, round face was deathly pale, her lower lip trembling. She sat slightly hunched, with her left arm holding her side where she'd been kicked. Crispinus didn't see any blood, but he'd seen enough injuries over the years to know that didn't always mean anything.

She didn't seem to breathe as he crouched down in front of her. By the confusion and uncertainty in her gaze, he knew she didn't recognize him. Not that he was surprised. The helmet he was wearing covered his entire face except his eyes and mouth. Even his _tunica_ was covered with leather and bronze armor. The only unchanged features she was left with were his boots and height, which wasn't near enough to identify someone she'd only met once, and under such stressful conditions.

Crispinus carefully reached up—ignoring how the movement made her flinch away from him—and set about unstrapping his helmet. He wanted her to see who her savior was this evening, wanted her to see that he wasn't the bastard he'd acted like back in his chambers. When she realized how badly she'd misjudged him, perhaps she'd forgive him. Perhaps, if he was really lucky, she'd even feel grateful enough to let him kiss her again.

His hopes high, Crispinus finished with the straps and removed his helmet so the woman could see just who had rescued her this night.

Her reaction was immediate, and _not_ what he expected. Instead of showering him with kisses of gratitude, her eyes bulged and her mouth moved soundlessly as if trying to work up another scream. She dug her heels into the floor and began scooting herself away from him, her free hand held out in a pitiful attempt to hold him off.

Crispinus struggled to contain his irritation. Here he'd saved her life and she was _still_ trying to flee him! He'd stolen one kiss from her. _One_. He'd taken much bolder liberties with other women in the past and those advances had never been so ill-received. Her fear of him was unreasonably dramatic and it was going to stop now. Because he'd be damned if he was going to let the first woman he was truly attracted to in over ten years just run out of his life a second time without having a say about it.

* * *

Kate knew the saying, "out of the frying pan and into the fire," but this was ridiculous. What were the odds that her rescuer would turn out to be the same man who had tried to molest her himself less than an hour ago?

Jason would have called it serendipitous. Kate called it annoying.

And what was a gladiator doing outside the coliseum at this hour anyway? Because that's what he was. She may not have gotten it earlier, but now, after finding herself inexplicably stranded in ancient Rome—the reality of which she could unfortunately no longer doubt—there was no mistaking what he was. The room in the coliseum, the outfit, the deadly precision with which he'd dispatched her attackers, even his attitude was the one of an arrogant warrior used to taking what he wanted.

And seeing the angry hunger in his eyes now, it was obvious what he currently wanted: her.

It was both thrilling and terrifying to be looked at in that way by a guy as handsome and intimidating as he was, but their earlier kiss was still fresh in her mind. Yes, she'd given in, _for a_ _moment_ , but what if things had gotten more serious and she'd told him to stop? Would he have? Or would he have just taken her like the two he'd just killed tried to do?

It was a risk she didn't dare repeat.

Just when she thought she might have gained back enough strength to stand and run, the gladiator's hand shot out and wrapped around her ankle, pulling her back towards him with one hard tug. Kate gasped and he clapped his other hand over her mouth. It wasn't necessary; she doubted she could scream much more anyway.

" _Tace_ ," he ordered her in what she now suspected might be Latin. It was what the ancient Roman's spoke after all, wasn't it? She knew a little Latin. Not much, but a little. Before going into journalism she'd studied in Linguistics and the teacher had spent an entire month on the subject, since it was the root of all the romance languages. Even English had adopted some of its words. As far as a language barrier went, Kate supposed it could be worse. She shuddered to think what would've happened if she'd been dumped somewhere like feudal Japan with the Samurai. She was a fast learner, but even Kate had to admit she'd have a problem learning old world Japanese.

So what did ' _tace_ ' mean? By the way the gladiator had snapped it at her and covered her mouth, she suspected it might be the Latin form of 'shut-up.' That irritated her. She was under a lot of stress and in her opinion entitled to a bit of mindless screaming if she felt like it. She toyed with the idea of biting his palm to make him let go, but she wasn't sure how he'd respond to that. And besides, never bite the hand that, well… kills for you?

She didn't have to worry. Her stillness seemed to reassure him that she would keep quiet, because he dropped his hand from her mouth—though Kate noticed he still kept a tight hold of her ankle—and used it to pull her arm away from where she held it against her side.

The place where the man had kicked her hurt horribly. She'd thought at first that she had broken a rib or two, but now she suspected they were probably just bruised. Not that that didn't hurt enough. Every inhalation felt like another kick to her side.

The gladiator poked at the area experimentally and she hissed in a breath at the pain. When he did it again, harder, she slapped his hand away before thinking better of it.

"Quit that!" she told him. "It hurts."

He frowned and said something back to her. Kate just shook her head. "I don't understand you. You're wasting your breath, pal." She sighed. "And so am I."

He said something else that sounded just as dismissive and focused back on her side. Kate tried to think of the medical term for "bruise" or "rib." Didn't they say a lot of medical terms came from Latin? She'd helped her brother study enough for his classes in medicine that she had a pretty good collection of said terms stored up in her memory, if she could just calm down enough to recall them.

"Costal!" she said, suddenly remembering the word for rib.

The gladiator looked up, surprised. " _Costa_?" he said back. Kate nodded, praying that " _costa_ " was the Latin noun for "rib" and not the verb for "do me."

"Contusion," she added.

"Ah." He nodded. " _Contusionem_."

"Yeah, that."

The gladiator ran his hands over her again, more gently this time, and mumbled a few other words that Kate didn't quite catch. His voice had a gravelly quality to it, like maybe he didn't talk very often.

_Well_ , she thought, _he_ is _a gladiator; he certainly doesn't stand around chatting his enemies to death._

The acknowledgement reminded her of the death he'd dealt just minutes ago, and her eyes swept the dark interior of the building they were in—a temple maybe?—until she located the cooling bodies of her attackers. It wasn't that she mourned their deaths really, but the ease with which they'd been killed was unnerving. And that the man who had done it was currently within kissing distance to her even more so.

Kate had never seen someone die before. Even her mother had passed on in her sleep after visiting hours at the hospital had ended and Kate had gone home for the day. To see two men cut down right before her eyes was scarring to say the least. If she hadn't been numb from everything else she'd been through today, she might have felt worse about it. But as it was, her horror seemed somehow dulled, as if she couldn't manage to feel any more today. It was a small blessing, but she counted it.

Kate felt a sudden draft around her thighs and looked down to see the gladiator pushing up the hem of her dress. She cried out and tried to fight him off, but he easily pushed her onto her back and pinned her down with one large hand pressed flat against the middle of her chest, so warm she could feel it through her dress.

_Oh God, this is it_ , she thought.

But he didn't go for her underwear like she expected him to. Instead, he pushed her dress up until it bunched just underneath her breasts, and she realized he was trying to get a better view of her injury.

She went very still as his hand skimmed over the sore skin that covered her lower right ribcage. His hand was heavily calloused; she expected nothing less from someone who wielded swords for a living. When he pressed lightly and she whimpered, he murmured words in that deep voice of his that she thought might be reassurances. Funny how one minute he was a killing machine and then the next he was trying to play doctor.

His fingers made another pass over her skin just beneath the bottom edge of her bra, barely covered by her dress, and Kate felt her nipples tighten. Okay, so "sweet" was definitely not the right word. "Hot" would work better. So would "dangerous" and "exciting" and— _crap_. This was a bad avenue to be wandering down. A very bad avenue. Especially when the guy in question had her pinned to the ground with her dress halfway off her. Kate could only hope her sudden surge of lust wasn't as clear in her eyes as it had been in his.

* * *

Done inspecting her injury, Crispinus looked up to find the woman watching him very, _very_ intently. If it wasn't for her obvious fear of him, he would think that the look in her eye was interest. A _lot_ of interest. It made his hope resurface, wary, but definitely there. And here he'd been starting to think her reaction to his kiss earlier had been a fluke. No, hidden underneath all that terror of hers was lust. A lot of it.

Normally, he resented being ogled at. All the females who came to see him did that, as if he were a good cut of meat and they were trying to figure out the best price they could get for him. But this woman's gaze was so blatantly appreciative. She didn't seem to be thinking of anything else besides how attractive she found him. It was nice. Both that he could read her so easily and that she didn't seem to have any hidden agendas. But how much could he trust her, really? The woman seemed to be unarmed and genuinely apprehensive, but she was also unchaperoned and seemed to have only the most basic understandings of Latin. Her clothes, though revealing, were well made, but she could have easily stolen them from some daring royal during a party. It would also explain how she came by the necklace. She was a woman after all, and prone to such things.

But she attracted him for some reason, and he didn't like the thought of parting ways with her before finding out why that was. It was almost a blessing that she was injured—"bruised ribs" he thought she said—because this way he had an excuse for sticking by her until she was well. He was sure that by then, this involuntary fixation he'd developed over her would be long-destroyed by her true nature and then he could be on his way.

Plan set, Crispinus pulled her _tunica_ back down with the same deliberate briskness he'd used to pull it up, and then removed his hand so she could rise. She did so slowly, and he was inwardly pleased to see that his ministrations, though formal, had left her breathless. Even averting his eyes as he had from her more intimate places, he'd still gotten a roaring erection, which he was grateful was hidden underneath all his armor.

"Crispinus Agallon," he told her, thumping a fist to his chest so she would know he was referring to himself. Since her Latin was so poor, he decided the simpler the statements, the better.

The woman seemed to digest that for a minute, then repeated back, "Crispin."

"Crispin _us_ ," he corrected her.

"Crispin," she said again, and gave him a tentative smile. It was small and sweet and he thought that if she wanted to pronounce his name wrong he would gladly let her do it just to see her smile like she was now, all innocent dimples and plump pink lips.

His uncomfortable state of arousal became even worse and Crispinus shifted as subtly as he could to try and alleviate it a little. When she just continued to watch him, he cleared his throat and pointed at her, the clearest gesture he could make that he wanted to know _her_ name now. She seemed to understand because she promptly said, "Katelyn Gray."

"Katelyn," he echoed, trying out the name.

"Kate," she corrected.

Crispinus frowned. How could simple introductions be so difficult? "Is it Katelyn or Kate?"

She only smiled wider, seeming amused by his frustration. "Katelyn Gray… Kate."

"Kate," he said.

She nodded.

Thinking that this didn't bode well for future conversations, Crispinus reached for his bag, only realizing then that the one he'd seen Kate carrying around earlier was missing.

"Where is your bag?" he asked her.

When she only looked confused, he picked up his own and then pointed at her. She eyed his bag warily, as if she expected poisonous serpents to leap out of it at any second. Crispinus ignored the look and repeated, "Your bag." He mimed the strange leather satchel that had hung from her shoulder as best he could, feeling more than slightly ridiculous doing it. Kate's expression cleared and she pointed to the body of one of the men who'd attacked her. A quick glance revealed he didn't have it. Neither did the other one lying further away. Apparently, there was at least one other man who'd taken her stuff and run. Unfortunate. Very unfortunate, since he didn't see any other place on her person where she might be able to keep money or anything of value. That made her injured as well as destitute.

_She_ did _have a small fortune in jewelry before you took it_ , his conscience berated him. True, but it would've been in her bag and gotten stolen along with everything else. At least this way he'd been freed and able to come help her. It made him ill to think what would've happened to her otherwise. She appeared to be in enough trouble as it was.

"You've really gotten yourself into a predicament," he told her dryly, and she must have caught the tone of his words because she scowled at him. Crispinus was hard-pressed to say whether it was more or less endearing than her smile.

He dug through his stuff until he found the wineskin he'd filled before leaving the Colosseum. It wasn't the best stuff, but it would do. He handed it to her.

"Drink," he commanded. Kate hesitated only a moment before complying. When she tried to return it after a small sip, he pushed the wineskin back into her hands. "More."

Her scowl deepened but she did as he said. When she stopped the second time he accepted it back and took a swig himself, then packed it back up along with everything else, sheathing his sword last of all. When he was finished, he bent down and scooped Kate up into his arms, liking the way she fit there and hating that he liked it. When she began to sputter in that nonsense language of hers, he silenced her with a look, surprised when she actually quieted.

Crispinus carried her through the darkened streets, looking for an open inn and glaring away the few threatening strangers that he passed. As he walked, Kate's body grew more and more relaxed. When her head lolled back to rest against his shoulder, he glanced down to find that she'd fallen asleep. Crispinus couldn't deny that it felt nice to have a woman in his arms that for once didn't need him for his seed but for his protection. It'd been a very long time since he'd raised his sword in order to defend anyone other than himself, and that Katelyn Gray, a woman, had been the one to change that was nothing short of amazing.

But as great as she seemed, this couldn't be how she truly was. Eventually she would reveal herself to be like all the others: lying, heartless, worried about status and how she looked reflected in other people's eyes. No woman was as innocent and honest as Kate seemed to be, no matter how much Crispinus might wish it otherwise.

The knowledge didn't sit well with him, and it made him doubt the wisdom of keeping her around like he planned. Why linger only to watch her innocent façade crumble? Yes, he would enjoy himself in the meantime, but the pain of the final outcome suddenly didn't seem worth it to him. Crispinus didn't want to hang around only to see Kate destroy the marble pedestal on which he'd foolishly placed her. He wanted it to stand. He wanted, for once, not to have his hopes dashed when it came to a woman he cared about. And the only way to do that was to leave before she could show her true nature and ruin everything. Then he could look back on his time with her and almost convince himself that there was at least one decent woman in the world not out to use him and leave him like all the others.

No, he would see her to shelter tonight, sate himself with her in any way he could tomorrow, and then he would go. The quicker he got her out of his life, the better.

* * *

"Who in Hades needs a giant three-headed dog? I ask you!" Aphrodite raged as she entered the palace of the Underworld, her voice echoing off the smooth obsidian walls. She'd never been to Hades' home before, and even through her anger she was impressed. Clean black stone rose up to a vaulted ceiling, so dark it couldn't be seen from the floor, even by the eyes of a goddess. The room was lit with hundreds of twinkling stones, as if the stars of the heavens were embedded into the walls. Potted plants were everywhere, a touch surely added by the goddess of spring. Some of the shrubs were as big as small trees. Rose vines entwined themselves around a table to her right and each of the chairs surrounding it. The place felt like a protected wilderness. One just as untamed as the one outside, but free from the inherent dangers the other possessed.

"Have a little trouble with Cerberus?" Hades asked, appearing in the front hall with Persephone beside him. Persephone gasped as she took in the fatal tear to the goddess of love's robes, the matted state of her hair, and the long string of white ooze running down her arm that looked suspiciously like drool.

"I'm ruined!" Aphrodite cried to them, the beauty of the palace instantly forgotten over the reminder of her sorry state. "Being the goddess of love, I admit I've done a lot of dirty things in my time, but fighting to get past that beast takes it. There's no coming back from this I tell you!"

Hades rolled his eyes. "Love is ever dramatic."

With a wave of his hand, Aphrodite's robes were mended and her body cleaned. A red rose appeared and tucked itself behind her ear, matching nicely with her once-again wavy fire of hair.

The goddess plucked out the flower and brandished it at the Lord of the Dead as if it were a sword instead of a plant. "Sucking up will get you nowhere."

"You're clean, aren't you?" he asked.

Aphrodite clutched the rose to her breast and said in a soft, heartbroken tone of voice, "But nothing will ever be able to clean the saliva off of my _soul_."

Hades snorted.

"Have you come with news?" Persephone asked Aphrodite, too curious to feign sympathy for the goddess of love's faux tragedy.

"Of course! I deposited the future mortal directly into the gladiator's chambers. Their love should be blooming even as we speak!" With a wink and a flip of her hand, she produced the mirror they used earlier. The three of them wasted no time in crowding around it.

" _Aw_!" Persephone and Aphrodite cooed in unison. The two mortals were in a small room with a narrow bed in the middle. The woman was in it, fast asleep on her back. The covers were pulled up to her waist, leaving her upper body completely bare except for a strangely fashioned _fascia_ covering her chest. The gladiator sat on his knees next to the bed, bent over her as he wrapped a strip of linen around and around her stomach, his actions of the outmost tenderness and care.

"Have you ever seen such a peaceful expression on a man's face before?" Aphrodite asked in a hushed voice.

"I have," Persephone admitted with a secret smile at Hades.

They watched the gladiator work for a few minutes more, unable to tear their eyes away from such a peaceful scene. Eventually, the god of the Underworld broke the trance with a shake of his head and a hearty clearing of his throat.

"So it is done," he declared, stepping back and waving his hand through the mirror to make it dissipate. "That's that then."

Neither Aphrodite nor Persephone tried to hide their disappointment.

"Hey! I wasn't finished looking yet," Aphrodite complained.

Persephone shot her friend a look of warning. Trying for a bit more tact, she suggested, "Perhaps we should keep our eye on them for just a few days more."

Her love shook his head. "It is not needed. It's obvious they are doing fine. They deserve their privacy now."

Aphrodite still looked mutinous, but Persephone was big enough to acknowledge when she was wrong. "You are right, I guess."

Hades smiled and took her hand. "Come. Let us retire for the night. We've all earned it. I'm sure Aphrodite would like to go home for a bit of rest as well after all her hard work today."

"I would indeed," the goddess of love agreed, perking up slightly at the change of topic. "But might I have a word with Persephone in private for a moment?"

At Hades look of suspicion she explained, "I have a, well, _womanly_ question to ask her."

"Certainly," the Lord of Dead replied quickly. He gave the back of Persephone's captured hand a quick kiss and released her. "Join me when you are done, my love."

"Of course."

The two goddesses waited in silence for him to leave the room before Persephone turned back to Aphrodite. "So, what question did you have for me?"

Aphrodite rolled her eyes. "I don't have one, obviously."

Persephone frowned. "But I thought you had a womanly problem."

"My dear Spring, I am the goddess of love. What womanly problem could I possibly have? I know all when it comes to women. Or men, for that matter. No, I wanted him gone so I could give you _this_."

Murmuring a short chant under her breath, Aphrodite produced another, smaller mirror, and handed it to Persephone. "Here."

The goddess of spring gasped. "Does this also show the gladiator and his woman?"

"Of course. I knew before I came that your handsome little prude wouldn't want to watch the mortals overlong, and I knew that you very much would. So I made this for you."

"Aphrodite, you are wonderful!" Persephone cried, pulling the goddess into a hug.

"Naturally," was the goddess of love's humble response.

Persephone released her with a laugh, clasping the mirror to her chest. But almost immediately she quieted and threw a guilty glance at the staircase behind them where Hades had disappeared. In a much more solemn tone she said, "But I don't know if I should. Hades said—"

Aphrodite cut her off with a snort. "Please. I know you don't believe all the crap about _privacy_. We are goddesses! We can do whatever we want, whenever we want. It's not like the mortals will know, anyway."

Persephone didn't answer. She was torn between her curiosity and what little morals a goddess could possess.

"I, for one, will continue to watch," Aphrodite went on when the goddess of spring stayed silent. "You've got me addicted just as badly as you are."

_Well_ , Persephone thought, _if Aphrodite is going to do it, then what is the point of_ me _missing out?_

She looked at her friend and the two goddesses shared a smile of pure feminine mischief.

The goddess of love took her leave then, saying by way of goodbye, "This time I will go the back way to avoid that overlarge mutt."

Once Persephone found herself alone in the hall, she couldn't help but take another quick peek before turning in. The gladiator was finished with his bandaging and had joined his soul mate in the bed. He lay on his side, the woman having turned toward him so that she was snug against his chest, her head resting on his arm. Agallon was still awake, playing idly with a strand of her hair with a look on his face that made tears spring to the goddess's eyes. It was a look that proved to her beyond any doubt that they had done the right thing.

Satisfied, she hid the mirror among a group of potted plants in the corner and made her way upstairs. It was pitch black inside their bedroom, but she knew her way without the light. As soon as she slid under the sheets Hades was there, pulling her close.

"Tears?" he asked when he kissed her cheek and tasted the watery remains.

"Tears of joy, love," she assured him, tugging him down for another kiss. "Tears of joy."


	6. Chapter Five

The gladiator Crispin was awake and staring at her. But that's not what unnerved Kate. He was awake and lying in the same bed as her, staring at her from only inches away, and was completely naked. Worse, there was another part of him that was also very much awake and pressing against her hip, and there was an intense look in his eyes as if he expected her to do something about it.

It was a very nice one, she had to admit. A little intimidating too, just like the rest of him. And maybe if she knew him better—or at all—and wasn't stuck all alone back in time, she might have taken him up on his silent offer. Okay, she admitted, she _definitely_ would have taken him up on it. But her nerves were still fried from yesterday and she had a mission today: to the future or bust! She couldn't waste time lazing in bed, fooling around with a gladiator who she still didn't quite trust not to turn violent on her.

"I'm sorry," she told him, finding it surprisingly difficult to meet those steel blue eyes of his while she turn him down. "But I can't stay and… _do this_. I have to get home."

" _Subsisto mihi_ ," he murmured, reaching for her. " _Commodo_."

His accent was so sexy. Like Italian, French and Spanish all rolled into one. Kate thought that whoever believed sirens were female had been badly misinformed, because there was one in bed with her right now who was very much male, and who's soft pleadings tore at the very core of her willpower and common sense.

"I can't," Kate said, to herself as much as to him as she dodged his hands and rose. "I have to go. I have to find my way home." She didn't add the obvious, "If I can."

She slid out from under the scratchy blanket—to the loud protest of her poor ribs—and shivered. The room wasn't cold. It was stuffy and warm, really. But it was drafty and Kate looked down to find that she was wearing nothing except for her underwear and a strip of stained linen wrapped tightly around her lower ribcage. Crispin lay propped up on his elbow, his face serious but his eyes twinkling as he enjoyed the view.

"You _undressed_ me?" she cried. "Do you have no honor at all?"

But even as she spoke, she knew he did have a little. A _very_ little. He'd saved her life last night and taken her in here—wherever 'here' was. Kate was leaning towards it being some sort of shady inn or maybe a brothel, if the faint sounds of early morning lovemaking coming through the walls was any indication. He also could have easily pressed his advantage a lot farther then he had after she'd conked out on him last night, but he hadn't. Plus, he'd wrapped up her ribs to give them some support while they healed. That actually seemed pretty thoughtful coming from a gladiator.

"I don't know whether to be mad at you or grateful," she huffed. "Which leaves me stuck at irritated."

Crispin didn't respond, just kept watching her with those eyes of his. Kate's nipples tightened under his intense stare and she knew he could see it through her bra because his gaze zeroed in on her breasts and a slow smile curled at the corners of his mouth.

Kate turned away, blushing furiously. Stupid hormones. She was definitely going to have a talk with them when she got home.

She tried to ignore the feeling of his eyes burning into her lower back as she looked around the room in an attempt to get some bearings. If it hadn't been for the gaudy red and gold rug on the floor and the stale smell of sex in the air, Kate might have thought the place was a monk's cell. The walls and floor appeared made out of a combination of stone and brick. There were no windows, no decorative items, no trappings to give the room personality of any kind. The only other piece of furniture besides the bed was a plain wooden stool in the corner whose one leg looked dangerously close to snapping off. The doorway didn't even have a door, just a long heavy curtain draped over a wooden rod. As a hotel critic, she wouldn't have given this place more than half a star.

Her dress was folded on the stool and Kate hurried over and slipped into it. Her shoes were there too. She gingerly sat down and put them on.

The wooden frame of the bed creaked. Crispin rose and pulled on an outfit similar to the one he'd been wearing at the coliseum, only this one was green. He frowned at her as she stood back up. He looked torn between confusion and anger.

"You're not used to girls turning you down, are you?" Kate guessed aloud. _And why would he be_? she thought. He was the perfect male specimen. All rippling muscles and sun-kissed skin. He had shoulders nearly as broad as his sword and could make even the tallest woman feel delicate and small. He was strong, brave, handsome. Maybe a little forceful at times but not so much that it would be a deal-breaker. He would be considered the full package in any century.

_And I have to leave him_ , she thought bitterly. _It figures_.

She started for the door, curtain, whatever, but Crispin stepped forward as if to follow and she had to turn back.

"No," Kate said, trying to sound firm. "You can't come with me."

" _Ego mos prosecutus te_." He nodded towards the doorway.

"No. I go—" She pointed to herself and then to the exit. "You stay." She pointed to him and then to the floor. "Understand?"

Crispin frowned, looking not at all happy, but after a moment he nodded and took a step back.

"Thank you."

" _Cauta es_." It sounded like a warning. Kate wished she knew what it meant so she'd have a chance of heeding it.

She turned to leave again, but found her feet suddenly wouldn't cooperate. She looked at the curtained doorway and back at Crispin.

Then she did it again.

And again.

_Don't be stupid_ , she chastised herself. _You have to get out of here._

_But Crispin…_ her hormones whined.

She cursed. It shouldn't be this hard to leave a guy she didn't know and hardly trusted, especially not over something as stupid and shallow as lust. She had to find a way home, and Crispin had to stay here and keep doing whatever it was gladiators did. Killing people and stuff.

_But if_ _you're leaving him for good, why not indulge yourself? Just a little_ , her hormones urged. _It's not like Crispin will say no_.

_Fine_ , she mentally snapped. _But no kissing_. She didn't trust him not to overreact to it.

She didn't trust herself either.

Warily, she crossed the room until she was half a foot away from him, then she slowly reached up to run her hands through the gladiator's thick blonde curls the way she'd wanted to do since the first moment she saw him. His beautiful hair was mussed from sleep, making it look as if he'd spent the entire night at bed play, and she wondered how amazing it would be to sleep with an ancient Roman gladiator.

Probably pretty freakin' amazing.

A single tremor rippled through Crispin's body at her touch, and she saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. But he made no other moves, not towards her or away as she trailed her fingers down his temple and along his jaw, which was already covered in a light dusting of golden scruff. She appreciated his effort to control himself, since it was evident he very much wanted to take her. It made her think that maybe he wasn't as bad as she'd originally thought, and her mind filled with a million "if only's" that she did her best to ignore.

"I think I'm going to miss you, Crispin," she told him as if confiding a secret. And in a way, she was. She'd never missed leaving a man before, except for her brother, but that was different. She didn't even know this guy and _still_ leaving him was hard.

To her surprise, Crispin cursed and pulled away. Kate thought maybe he just wasn't the goodbye type of guy, but then he stomped over to his pack and snatched it up. Was he going to insist on coming with her again? He returned to her side looking extremely put-out, and without a word, captured her wrist and pulled her back over to the stool, tugging so she was forced to sit. What was it with Romans and the manhandling?

He bent down and, in two swift moves, pulled off her sandals, ignoring her exclamations of surprise. He inspected them both with brief but intense curiosity before tossing them aside and pulling out a pair of boots from his pack. Even disgruntled as he seemed to be, he was nothing but gentle as he pushed the boots onto her feet and tied a strip of leather around them much like shoelaces to hold them on, since they were obviously meant for feet much bigger than her own. He pulled a small, sheathed dagger out and, after holding it up so she could see it, tucked it securely into her right boot.

"Why are you giving me these things? I can't pay you, you know." She felt she owed him the warning, even if he couldn't understand it. He just grunted and took her hands, pulling her back to her feet. As soon as she was up he let her go and dug out what looked like a hooded brown poncho, which he dropped unceremoniously over her head. "Crispin!"

His only response was a mutter Kate didn't catch and an angry jab at the doorway. An obvious dismissal. He wouldn't even look at her.

His attitude hurt despite being clothed in the gifts he'd just given her. But then she caught a glimpse of his expression and wondered if her leaving didn't hurt him too.

_To hell with it_ , Kate thought, and reaching up on her tiptoes, she placed quick kiss against his cheek. Crispin's head whipped around to stare down at her, but she had already turned and left the room at a dead run.

* * *

The necklace was even more impressive when seen in the daylight.

Cato held up the gold chain—as fine as a strand of hair—and watched as the afternoon sunlight pouring through his window twinkled off the precious piece of jewelry, making the giant ruby that dangled from the end of it glint and shine like a well-buffed blade. Never had he seen it's equal. And the clasp at the back—which could only be opened with the very tip of a fingernail—was a mechanism he could scarcely believe had been created by mortal hands.

Even the chest it came in was impressive. The pelt that lined its insides was both bristly and smooth at the same time, a virginal white. The golden hinges that attached the lid to the rest of the chest were as fine at the necklaces' clasp. It was almost as if it had been crafted by Hephaestus, the Greek god of metallurgy.

Who had made these things? And how did some lowly Gladiator come to possess them?

The memory of Crispinus and his betrayal made Cato's hand curl into a fist around the fragile gold chain, and he forced himself to relax before he broke it.

That bastard Agallon had come to him as nothing more than the second son of some poor rural farmer, useless and unknown, and Cato had built him into one of Rome's greatest warriors. And what thanks did Crispinus offer him? A blade to the gut and the threat of death on his lips. The necklace, as superb and mystifying as it inarguably was, did not compare to the riches Cato could have continued to make had the gladiator remained in his employ. Oh, Cato had other fighters, but they were not nearly as strong, and their fans not nearly so generous with their gifts. He wanted Crispinus. He wanted back his gladiator.

"So _that's_ what was in there. I wondered."

Cato turned to scowl at the tall, dark-haired man standing in the doorway. Aleron. He was one of the guards that patrolled the Colosseum and kept both the spectators and the gladiators in-line. Though all the guards here were arrogant bastards, this one was worse than most. He and Cato butted heads constantly. It was why Cato hated coming to this amphitheater, even if it was the most grand. Though it was the guard's duty to help Cato, he was not technically in his employ, and therefore not subservient to him the way the men Cato owned were—the way he _liked_ them to be. So Cato couldn't just put the disrespectful rat to death and have done with it. No, he had to work with him, plan _events_ with him.

Just being in the same room together turned Cato's stomach. It's why he'd tried to poison him. _Twice_. Unfortunately, the man had survived both times and now had guards of lower rank taste-test his food whenever Cato came into town. It wasn't as great a victory as seeing him dead, but watching the man's paranoia around mealtime always brought Cato some satisfaction.

It was not mealtime now, though, and his frustrations were already at their limit.

"What are you blathering about, Aleron?" Cato snapped.

The man's eyes narrowed at his tone, but he shrugged it off and continued lightly, "I was merely commenting on that piece you have there. It's from that chest, right? The one Agallon had?" He laughed darkly. "Figures you'd find a way to steal it from him. And so quickly too."

"You saw him with it?" Cato asked suspiciously. "When?"

"Last night."

"Did you see where he got it from? Or who?"

Aleron's eyebrows rose. "I did, as a matter of fact."

"Tell me."

"I don't take orders from you, old man," he said, visibly stiffening at the command. "I am not one of your slaves."

If not for his burning curiosity, Cato wouldn't have tolerated such impertinence. But as it was, this man had answers, and if Cato didn't rein in his temper, he would never get them.

"My apologies," he said through clenched teeth. "That was not my intent. Please, tell me what you know about this necklace."

Aleron glared at him a few seconds more, then seemed to relax and said in a deceptively uninterested tone of voice, "Why do you care?"

"When it is about one of my gladiators, I always care."

Aleron snorted. "When it's about one of your gladiator's _royalties_ you care, more like. And Agallon no longer works for you, if the rumors I've been hearing all morning are true."

"My reasons are irrelevant to you," Cato told him.

Aleron absorbed that, then nodded. "You're right. In fact, this whole conversation is irrelevant to me. I guess I'll be going."

He turned to leave, and even though Cato knew it was just a ploy, he couldn't let the bastard walk out like he wanted him to. He needed those damn answers!

"Stop."

The guard looked back at him, one eyebrow quirked in mocking question. Cato cursed him and pulled out a small bag of gold from one of his robe's inner pockets. He threw it to him. Aleron caught it and, after hefting it to gauge its weight, pocketed it.

"Tell me," Cato repeated.

This time the man peacefully complied. He told Cato how he'd heard screaming coming from the gladiator's cell. How he went in and found a hysterical woman blabbering on in a language he didn't know, while Crispinus just stood there and watched her run out on them both. The strange chest was in the gladiator's hands, Aleron said, and it was immediately after that happened that Crispinus had demanded to see Cato.

"It didn't occur to you that he might have stolen it?" Cato asked him when he was finished.

Aleron shrugged. "It did cross my mind. But why should I care? The woman was obviously crazy anyway. Didn't speak one word of Latin and dressed like a whore."

Cato tried to contain his delight. It was perfect. So deliciously perfect. He could turn Crispinus in for theft—a crime the warrior may very well be guilty of—and once imprisoned Cato could buy him back as a slave and then the man would be _forced_ to fight for him again.

And even if Crispinus _had_ come by the necklace honorably—though from what Aleron had described, Cato doubted it—the girl was nothing but a nasty foreign plebian who couldn't speak Latin and had run off to the gods-knew-where. She wouldn't be able to defend Crispinus even if she wanted to.

Cato smiled and put away the necklace. He shut the lid with a snap and tucked the chest safely in his robes.

"Where are you going?" Aleron asked when Cato shrugged past him into the hall.

"To call on my gladiators. I have a job for them."

"What are you planning to do? I know you don't really care if Agallon stole that necklace."

Cato stopped and shot him a proper look of outrage over his shoulder. "Of course I do! I can't very well let a criminal as dangerous as Crispinus continue to wander free. He might have only stolen this time, but what about the next time? He's a powerful gladiator. No one would be able to withstand him if he attacked. No, he must be brought to justice immediately. For the safety of the people of Rome."

Aleron was not fooled. "You're one heartless son of a bitch, you know that?"

"And you just let yourself be bribed by him, so what does that say about you?"

The guard seemed to have no answer for that, and Cato smirked at him and continued on down the hall. A victory against Aleron and now a chance to retrieve his gladiator. Today was shaping up to be a good day after all.

* * *

Crispinus was a fool, the stupidest of all men. Who else but an idiot would shadow a woman around all day in the scorching heat and smothering crowds of the market for no reason in particular that he could name?

Through the throngs of people, he watched as Kate struggled to get around a group of women that were haggling viciously with a red-faced street vendor. Crispinus sighed gustily. He'd said he was going to leave her. That had been the plan. That fact that she'd left him first should have only confirmed her unreliability and given him the peace of mind he needed to be on his way. But it hadn't. Even his humiliation over her refusal to bed him that morning hadn't dulled his attraction to her. It was all so frustrating! He'd saved her, he'd housed her, he'd offered her his body free of charge and still her interest remained minimal. And worst of all was that he couldn't figure out why he cared so damn much!

When Kate had refused his offer to accompany her that morning, only to turn around and run her hands though his hair as if it were gold and she the poorest of beggars, his anger at her rejection—along with all his common sense—had fled. The next thing he knew, he was outfitting her with his best pair of boots, his best dagger, and his only cloak. Well he couldn't very well let her go out as she was! Indecent and unprotected!

It was humiliating, truly. Never had a woman captured his attention so completely and with so little effort. And when he'd told her to go and she'd come back to kiss him goodbye on the cheek… he'd nearly come undone. He'd never experienced such tenderness before, and his shock was the only thing that had kept him from stopping her escape from the room and making her continue. The feelings her chaste little kiss evoked were nameless but strong, and he hadn't been able to stop himself from going after her, despite his earlier plan to get away. Yes, he didn't know her. Yes, he couldn't trust her. Yes, he would probably live to regret following her. But he wasn't ready to let her go. He _couldn't_ let her go.

And why? Because he was a fool, that's why.

So he watched. And waited. Like a confused, grudging shadow.

A lanky man with at least a week's worth of beard spotted Kate from across the street and started to weave his way over to her. Crispinus didn't like the look in the man's eye and moved to intercept him before Kate could notice. He gave the plebian a hearty shove in the other direction, saying quietly, "Set your sights somewhere else, miscreant, if you want to keeping having sights to set."

The man gave him a startled look, took in his armor and sword, and scuttled off. Crispinus hmphed and returned to his place near the street corner where he could continue to watch over his frustrating woman without being overly obvious about it.

He knew she was aware of his presence. Despite his attempts to be discreet, she'd spotted him around noon as she was wandering past the fountains. Crispinus had quickly pretended to be looking at something in the stall behind him, but if the quirk of her lips had been any indication, she hadn't been fooled. He had expected her to try and lose him after that, but she hadn't. He was pathetic enough to take that as an encouraging sign.

He had no idea what she was looking for, though it was for a certainty that she was looking for something. She'd spent most of the morning at the Colosseum, just standing around out front, taking in the people that past her. Eventually, she began circling it, poking her nose into every entrance she found until some passing guards scared her off.

Crispinus had been on edge the whole time. Cato was still inside there, and anywhere Cato was, was a place Crispinus did not want to be. He was a free man now, but the gladiator was a sneaky bastard and Crispinus didn't trust the man not to try something. Cato had lost a lot of income when he'd lost Crispinus, and he was not going to take that lying down. The safest thing would be to leave the city, to escape the man's reach as fast as he could. But that would require leaving Kate, and Crispinus had already proven himself incapable of doing that. He was risking his very freedom in order to hang around a woman who didn't want him.

_Fool_ , he thought again.

Eventually Kate had wandered away into the market, her head swiveling this way and that, seemingly trying to see every thing and every one at once. Hours had passed since then and still she searched. Crispinus thought she might be looking for someone, but it was hard to tell through all her unease.

He watched as Kate dodged a passing chariot, her glumness lighting up briefly into panic as she hurried to get out of the way. She was as skittish as a colt, an abused colt even. If he hadn't known any better, he'd say she'd never been to a market before, but that couldn't be possible. Freezing up at the sight of a gladiator, he could believe. But fighting terror over a stroll through the market? Even foreigners had their own marketplaces. He'd seen them.

She kept her arms wrapped tightly around herself, minimizing the pain Crispinus knew she felt in her ribs every time someone jostled her—which was often thanks to such crowded streets. Her winces of pain and looks of increasing desperation bothered him severely, and he had to keep reminding himself that gladiators didn't comfort, that they didn't show tenderness or get emotional. They were strong, unyielding killers. They didn't soothe away tears or whisper encouragements. That's not what women wanted from him, and if Crispinus went to Kate now and tried to act that way, she would no doubt turn away from him in disgust just like all the others, and he didn't want her to turn away from him. Not yet.

Eventually the sun began to set and the crowds started to thin. Kate shuffled over to a store corner and slid down the wall until her butt hit dirt. She pulled her knees up to her chest but kept her arms wound tightly around her middle, staring out at the people in the streets but not really seeing them. From where Crispinus stood, he could see a single tear trickle down her dirty cheek, leaving a clean track mark on her dusty skin.

Unable to keep his distance a second longer, Crispinus crossed the street and took a seat beside her. When he met her gaze, her eyes filled and her lower lip trembled, but then she sniffed and turned away, wiping furiously at her eyes as if they were full of sand instead of tears.

"Are you trying to find someone?" he asked her. "A family member maybe? A—" He felt his gut unexpectedly clench—"a husband?"

Her only response was another sniffle.

"Do you not know _anyone_ in this city you can go to?"

She looked back and gave him a weak, placating smile, and he remembered that she didn't speak Latin. He cursed and ran a hand through his hair. Kate's eyes followed the movement, and even when he dropped his hand, she continued to stare.

Slowly, her gaze lowered to his and as he watched as a couple more tears broke free from her eyes.

_Damn it to Hades._ Probably, he told himself, she deserved this. Probably, she was a thief just like he thought, and this destitution she found herself in was warranted. But he'd been wrong the first time about her and he wanted to be wrong again. He obviously couldn't leave her anyway. Whatever scraps of honor he had left wouldn't let him.

Honor. Yes, that was the unnamed feeling he'd labeled as stupidity earlier. Surely, it could be nothing else.

He sighed. So, it was back to his original plan then. He'd stay and help her until she got back on her feet, or she demanded he leave—dashing all his hopes in the process.

_No_ , he thought. He wouldn't let it get that bad. He would enjoy her, just like he wanted to, but he would make sure to keep his distance emotionally. He would treat her just like any other female who came to him. For his own protection.

Crispinus stood, every sense of self-preservation he had screaming at him not to do this, and yet how could he not?

"Come!" he barked, then immediately felt like the Empire's biggest bastard when his harsh command made her flinch.

"Come," he repeated, more gently this time, and he reached down to grip her elbow and help her stand. Once she was on her feet, he pulled away and started back towards the inn. Respect he would give her, but he would not let her think him swayed by her grief, lest she think to use it against him, or worse, lose respect for him as a man and leave. It was a fine line, made even more treacherous because she was the one drawing it, and he would have no idea where it was until after he had crossed it.

* * *

Kate followed along behind her gladiator. She didn't know why she bothered going with him except that she had no other plans at the moment, and at least she'd have a roof over her head for another night, something that wasn't guaranteed tomorrow.

The waves of misery that had been crashing against her all day rushed forward to deliver another soul-crushing blow. It was over. She had failed. She had spent all day trying to find the redhead who'd sent her here—because Kate was more sure than ever that the woman had _something_ to do with it—but with no luck. She hadn't been at the coliseum and Kate felt like she'd checked half the city with no success. If the woman was still around, she'd hidden herself well.

Why had she done this to her? What had Kate ever done to justify someone stranding her almost two thousand years back in time? It wasn't fair! And even more important, it made no sense! Kate had been driving herself crazy over the impossibility of it all day. There was no time machine, no wishing well, no cursed jewelry or deals with the devil. She could almost believe the woman to be a witch, but witches usually just turned you into a newt and had done with it. She'd never heard of a witch who liked to send people back in time.

And what was Kate supposed to do now? This gladiator, Crispin, his altruism couldn't last long. Eventually he would insist on payment she didn't have for his help; or his patience with her rejections of him would snap and he would try and force himself on her again like he had before; or he would leave her, broke and alone with nowhere to go…

She wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand and eyed the man walking in front of her. Even the shadow that stretched out behind him appeared daunting. And with the armor and weapons adorning his body, it was a wonder every person they walked by didn't cower in fear. _She_ would, if he turned all that rippling power on her.

_Would_ he eventually turn on her? Her history of dealing with men said yes, but her brother Jason was a guy and he was the most devoted husband she'd ever known. And the most devoted brother, despite his interferences with her and her father.

_And now I'll never see him again._

A solitary sob slipped free, causing a spasm of pain to shoot through her ribs. Crispin shot her a glance over his shoulder at the noise. She thought that the look in his eye might be concern, but he turned back around too quick for her to be sure. Could she be so lucky as to find a man a bighearted as Jason here in ancient Rome?

Somehow she doubted it.

She made it back to their Roman version of the Motel 8 without any more sobbing, but a steady stream of tears ran down her cheeks and she knew her eyes were red and puffy. Crispin led her to the same room they had stayed in the previous night and Kate went straight to bed. She borrowed under the rough and gritty blankets that smelled of sweat and dirt and a few other things she rather not contemplate and tried to imagine that she was back at her own hotel. Or better yet, back at Jason's apartment, the closest thing she had to a permanent residence. She'd planned on getting her own place after the baby was born, but she never imagined it would be some dirty inn.

The blanket was pulled back, revealing Crispin. He looked down at her with an inscrutable expression on his face. Kate was dirty, sweaty, and knew she smelled little better than the bed, but she was so distraught she couldn't even spare the energy to feel self-conscious.

"I'm an aunt, you know," she told him when he continued to stand there and stare. "I've been an aunt for a whole day now. Does it still count, you think, if you've been sent back in time? I mean, the baby won't even be born for, what, 1,800 years? Hell, _I_ won't even be born for 1,800 years." She felt another sob start to build, so she closed her mouth before it could escape.

" _Ego sum iens impetro victus_ ," Crispin said. " _Subsisto hic_."

"Sure thing," she said with false glibness.

He frowned, then crouched down beside the bed so that his face was only inches from her own. Kate thought for a moment that he was going to kiss her, but then he brushed a strand of hair from her face and whispered, " _Panton ero eximius_. _Ego Promissum_."

" _Promissum_ , huh?" she teased weakly. "That sounds an awful lot like the word 'promise.' Just what are you promising me, gladiator?"

To her surprise, he smiled, and it was so full of compassion and understanding that it made her choke up in a way even her sorry situation hadn't managed to do. Then it was gone and he was once again standing. He let go of the blanket so that it fell back over her head, and she listened to his footsteps as they receded from the room.

_Wow_ , Kate thought. _Talk about a distraction._

Crispin was a mystery, to be sure. She wondered why he'd followed her all day. She hadn't expected him to, but she couldn't say she'd been overly surprised either. She knew it should worry her, having a gladiator stalk her. But honestly, the feeling of safety he exuded, even from afar, overshadowed any unease she felt about it. He'd been there, protecting her. More than once she saw him give the men who stared at her too long pointed glares, sometimes fondling the hilt of his sword. It was extremely helpful, and she would miss it when he finally left her and returned to the coliseum, or wherever it was he needed to go. Because maybe he wouldn't abuse her, but he _would_ leave her. He had his own life to live, and doubtless, shadowing her every day was not part of it. All she could do was take the help he gave and hope she could figure out a way to get back home before he left. Which was easy to say, but not so easy to do. She was completely out of ideas and had no idea how long Crispin's interest in her wellbeing would last. Hell, he might decide to leave as soon as tomorrow.

The thought made panic lurch up under her despair, but it wasn't strong enough to break through. Thank God. The last thing she needed was a panic attack. This overwhelming hopelessness was bad enough.

Crispin returned. Kate peeked out from under the covers to watch him place a plate of food and a pitcher of wine on the wobbly stool. He dragged it over to the bed, using it like a TV tray of sorts, and took a seat next to her. Kate sat up and scooched back against the headboard to give him more room. He gave her a roughly carved cup and filled it with the same kind of watered down wine he'd made her drink last night. This time Kate didn't argue. She drank it all in four big gulps then held out her cup for more, which Crispin dutifully filled before getting his own.

On the plate was a small clump of slightly withered grapes, some cheese with a hint of mold at one corner of it, and some flat bread that was as hard as the plate. But she was starving and knew this was as good as she was going to get for awhile, so she picked at the inside of the bread where it was softer, ate around the mold, and told herself that they weren't old grapes, just new raisins.

All the while, she felt Crispin watching her. She couldn't tell if he was curious about her or worried. Probably a little of both. If she could speak Latin she knew he'd be grilling her like a cop grilled a murder suspect, but as it was, all he could really do was look—and look he did. It was unnerving. Almost like he was cataloging every sweat-dampened lock of hair, every sunburned swath of flesh, every freckle and mole and scar. She caught herself trying to nonchalantly dust some of the dirt of her clothes and made herself stop. Obviously her self-consciousness wasn't as far gone as she'd first thought.

As they finished eating Kate became aware of yet another problem, and this one was by far more immediate.

"Don't suppose there's a bathroom around here, huh?"

The gladiator raised his eyebrows at her in question.

"God, don't make me do the pee-pee dance to get you to understand me," she pleaded. "Come on. I really got to _go_." She waved reluctantly at her crotch, hoping it didn't require any more explanation than that.

She gave the gladiator credit, he was quick. His eyes widened, and to her amusement, he blushed, which made two of them. He stood and directed her out into the hall. To her surprise and apprehension, he led her back outside and around the corner, to where a narrow building stood. A rickety revolving door made of wood marked the dim entrance. Well, at least it was an actual _door_.

" _Ego mos expecto hic_ ," Crispin told her, and pointed at the ground the same way she'd done in their room that morning when she told him to 'stay.' Understanding it meant he would do the same now, she took a breath and went inside.

It was too much to hope for a private stall. Instead, long stone benches stretched the length of the room to her left and right. Telling holes had been carved out every few feet. It wasn't any worse than an outhouse, she decided, except for one humiliating difference: the lack of privacy.

Two women were near the back. They sat across from each other, chatting amiably as they did their business. They didn't so much as pause when she came in. Kate debated leaving until they were done, but that would be awkward to try and explain to Crispin, and make her look even odder than she already did to the women, who snuck glances at her when she continued to stand there and stare.

Well, if this was what was socially acceptable, then there was nothing to do but power through it. _It_ ' _s only embarrassing to_ you _,_ Kate told herself as she chose a spot as far away from the gossiping women as she could. _Just do you thing and get out of here._

She couldn't see the bottom of her selected hole, but she did hear a faint sound rushing of water, which made Kate slightly nervous. The last thing she needed was to fall through the toilet seat and drown in some poop-filled aquifer. After everything she'd been through, the possibility didn't seem that far-fetched.

Worse than the plumbing though was the toilet paper. There wasn't any. She'd expected it, but they should have something similar to it at least!

She looked over at the women. If she waited, she could watch and see what they used. But they looked good and settled in; who knew how long she would have to sit there with her most intimate area exposed to whatever lurked in the ancient Roman sewer?

"This week on the History Channel," Kate whispered as she peered around. "What did the ancient Romans wipe with? Aha! wha— _euuw_."

Wedged against the bench by her feet, was a pot. A pot full of sticks that had small dark sponges impaled on the ends of each of them.

"Oh, that's just not right." Kate was not a germaphobe, but this seemed to be crossing some sort of line.

She did her business as quick as she could, and used a sponge that _looked_ new, though she still kept up a steady stream of " _ew-ew_!" throughout the whole ordeal that made the women sneak more curious glances at her. She couldn't see this particular culture shock get any less, well, shocking. Or disgusting.

When she was done, she hurried out, passing Crispin to reach a public fountain a few yards away. She washed her hands under the water, wishing she hadn't lost her purse. There'd been hand sanitizer in there.

She did her best to wash off her face and arms as well, but was too tired to be any more thorough than that. She also sprinkled some drops of water into her hair to try and ward off the greasiness that would set in by morning. Unfortunately, there weren't any towels for her to dry off with, and she stood up looking a bit bedraggled. Crispin, who waited a few feet behind her, raised his eyebrows when she turned around.

" _Melior_?" he asked politely. Kate didn't know what that meant, but there was a mocking tenor to it so she glared at him.

Once they got back to their room, Crispin set aside the now empty dinner plate and cups and Kate once more slipped underneath the covers, removing only her boots and cloak. She fully intended on sleeping with her clothes _on_ tonight, no matter how uncomfortable.

She eyed the gladiator, wondering if he planned on doing the same. He stripped off his boots, weapons, and armor, placing his sword and knives within reach of the bed. Unlike last night, tonight he kept on the belted t-shirt thing that he was wearing underneath his armor. It was actually a little disappointing. Kate could have used a pick-me-up, and another little peek at a naked Crispin would have done nicely. Unfortunately, he seemed to have finally taken her refusals to sleep with him to heart and was revoking the offer.

Damn.

She knew that if she tried she could probably change his mind, but talk about counterproductive. Though she no longer had the excuse that she needed to leave A.S.A.P., it still wouldn't be smart to start anything physical with the gladiator. Their alliance was tenuous at best, and already more than a little confusing. Adding sex to that would only make it worse. She needed to be thankful that Crispin had stopped trying to take advantage of her and leave it at that. It was growth after all. Sweet, caring, disappointing-as-hell growth.

He slid into the bed next to her, leaving as much space as he was able to on the narrow, lumpy mattress, but it was still intimately close. They were facing each other. Kate expected him to roll over for privacy, but he didn't. He mirrored her position and she wondered if it was intentional: knees slightly bent, one arm under the head as a makeshift pillow with the other tucked against his chest. Their eyes met. Kate couldn't tell what he was thinking, but had the feeling her thoughts weren't quite so closed off. Her mother had always called her an open book. He'd probably been reading her all day.

Could he tell how desperate she felt? Was that why he was helping her now? Out of pity? Between thoughts of the redhead and how to find her, Kate had wondered about Crispin's motivations for helping her. It couldn't be out of obligation. She had no ties to him, and if he'd felt at all bad about his actions the first time they met he'd more than made up for it during their second encounter. She wondered if maybe it was just lust, but then he certainly wasn't trying to touch her now.

That left only pity. She didn't really like the thought of Crispin pitying her, but knew she wasn't really in the position to argue it. Tonight she was safe, with a roof over her head and food in her belly. If it was all thanks to pity than she would have to take it. For now.

"Thank you," she whispered to Crispin, breaking the silence. "Not a lot of guys would have taken in some strange woman off the street like you did. I… I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't… if you hadn't been there to…"

Kate was surprised that she still had tears left to shed, but there they were, burning her eyes and reddening her skin. She closed her eyes to try and stem the flow, but that only made it worse. She found herself bombarded with images of Jason and Sarah. Her mother, her friends, her editor, even her father when she had left him at the restaurant, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"I've lost them. _God_ , I've lost all of them!" she wailed.

Crispin's arms folded around her and Kate didn't fight his embrace. She snuggled shamelessly up against him, burrowed her face into his neck, and cried.


	7. Chapter Six

The market was empty so early in the morning. Crispinus appreciated the privacy as he made his way through the streets. The sun had yet to fully rise over the eastern hills and the night breeze had blown away all the more unsavory smells that the market accumulated by the end of each day, leaving the morning smelling fresh of sand, citrus and salt. Around him, merchants were setting up their stalls. Commands, curses, jokes and greetings echoed through the air as men moved, stacked, unpacked, and prepared their goods for selling later that afternoon. It wasn't the most glamorous life, but these merchants knew who they were and what they were doing, and expected no more today then they did yesterday, and no more tomorrow then they did right now. There was a peace in that, a peace Crispinus desperately missed.

Long lost feelings of nostalgia rose up as he observed the camaraderie. As a farmer, his father had often made trips to Rome to sell his surplus of olives and wheat, and sometimes he'd let Crispinus and his older brother, Drusus, come along to help if the harvest had been especially plentiful and he needed a couple extra pairs of hands. They would help him set everything up, and when they were finished their father would give them each a couple _sestertii_ that they'd run off to spend on some trinket or other, keeping each other entertained and out of their father's hair until it was time to pack up and go home.

The last time he'd come this early had been over a decade ago. His father had just passed away and Crispinus had come to Rome seeking the gladiator school. He'd arrived early for the express purpose of being able to experience such a morning one final time, because becoming a gladiator would mean facing death, not once but constantly, and he wanted to come and say one last goodbye—to his father, and to his old life. He could hardly believe that he was free to experience mornings like this again. And no matter how things turned out with Kate, he would always be thankful to her for that.

He made his way to the stall near one of the city's intersections. Like the others, the merchant running the stall wasn't finished setting up yet, but there were enough things out that Crispinus wasn't without options.

They exchanged greetings and Crispinus eyed the many different fabrics in front of him with a great deal of unease. Even with the minimal selection, he was overwhelmed. There were too many different colors, different styles. And the prices were staggering. Crispinus was used to bartering for steel, not silk. But Kate needed proper clothes. It was why he was here. If he was going to take care of her, then he was going to make sure that she had all her needs seen to, clothing included. It was a point of pride with him that he could provide this.

Besides, she stuck out too much dressed as she was. Not that Kate's inappropriate attire seemed to bother _her_ at all. She'd walked about yesterday as if it were perfectly normal for a woman to be exposed up to the knees. Even with the cloak he'd given her, there was no covering for that. Crispinus hadn't minded it so much in his chambers at the amphitheater when he thought the outfit had just been for him, but now that he knew it wasn't just some costume designed to impress, and that it was in fact, all she had to wear, he couldn't help but wonder how she'd come to dress in such strange garb, and why.

At first, he thought she might have stolen it, but now that he'd ruminated on the idea awhile, he could see that wasn't the case. Thieves were street savvy, something Kate most definitely was not. And while it would explain her presence at the Colosseum—stealing from the spectators—it was a beginner's mistake to get herself lost. Additionally, her outfit didn't exactly blend in. She might as well be carrying around a roaring lion cub for all the attention her _tunica_ drew. A thief would never wear something so outrageous.

Thieves were also very independent. Crispinus doubted Kate would be as tolerable of his presence were she practiced in the art of theft. She would have her own place to go and wouldn't have stayed with him as long as she had. Most likely, she would've taken everything she could grab that first night and run.

So not a thief. But what then? His mind circled back around to her choice of outfit, and his gut clenched as his mind came up with the most reasonable conclusion: that she was some bold new sort of prostitute. However, besides her lack of modesty, there was no other evidence that this was true. On the contrary, if she were that type of woman, then she would have been able to return home yesterday, instead of wandering about looking for all the world like an abandoned puppy.

And she wouldn't be so reticent to sleep with him either. He knew she was attracted to him, and knew she was aware of his feelings for her. A whore wouldn't hold back that kind of lust. At least, he didn't think so.

And then there was her ignorance of Latin. Prostitutes were well-versed in it. How else could they communicate with their patrons, figure out how much was owed and for what activities? It would be foolish to barter with such a language barrier.

Unless Kate wasn't the one doing the bartering…

Crispin knew that foreigners were often captured in battle and sold by Romans into slavery. Men most often to gladiatorial schools, woman to brothels. Gods, it would make sense. Her clothes, her shyness, her strange tongue. Perhaps she'd been sold to some whorehouse and escaped.

The idea of her little body being used over and over again but strange and dirty men for a handful of _denarii_ raised a bloodlust in Crispinus that he very rarely felt, even in the arena. But, thankfully, there were holes in that explanation too. Like why she would have been at the Colosseum. And why she would be sticking around town searching for someone. If she was indeed from a distant land, then who could she possibly know outside the brothel? A smart escapee would have left the city immediately, and yet she lingered.

If only he could talk to her. Then he'd be spared this constant madness of wondering.

"Might I suggest a few things for you, sir?"

Crispinus pulled himself out of his dark thoughts and realized that he had been standing there glowering at the cloth in front of him for several minutes. The merchant hovered on the other side of the stall, looking wary.

Crispinus tried to sound light-hearted when he answered, "Yes, please."

Ten minutes later, he had enough cloth for two fine outfits for Kate. He paid the merchant, then gathered his things and headed back to the inn, his mind still turning with all sorts of disconcerting thoughts about the woman back in his room and the time he'd spent with her, not the least of which had been the torture of the previous evening.

Whatever she'd gone through—thieving, whoring, or something else entirely—it must have been horrible, because Kate had cried for hours last night, and every tear had felt like a dagger to his heart. Most women hid their emotions unless it was part of whatever plan they were scheming. It was dangerous to show such weakness otherwise, even to a friend or family member who might use it against you later. But her grief was so strong that she'd wept openly in front of him, and with every sob, Crispinus's indignation had risen higher. If he'd been capable of finding whoever had done this to her—if indeed, anyone beside herself was responsible—nothing would stop him from hunting the bastard down and gutting him. But there wasn't. And so all he'd been able to do was hold her until her energy finally gave out, and she'd found peace in sleep.

That morning he'd half expected her to try to leave again, and had been fully prepared to go with her—with her blessing or without it. But when she finally woke she'd only sniffled a couple times, like she might resume crying, then turned over and gone back to sleep. That was when Crispinus realized that she truly didn't have anywhere else to go. That she had no one else to turn to. That she was relying on _him_.

He wasn't going to let her down.

Of course, there was still the matter of _her_ letting _him_ down, which was why he had to continue to guard himself carefully. Weaponless, penniless, utterly hopeless, she was still more dangerous to him than the entire Roman army; he knew it instinctively. The question was though: would he have enough strength to defend himself when the time came?

* * *

It was a bittersweet thing to see Jason again. Sweet, because being with her twin brother never failed to lift Kate's spirits when she was feeling down. Bitter, because it was only a dream.

They sat on opposite sides of a restaurant booth, the seat cushioning hard and uncomfortable as always. Crumbs dotted the fake-wood tabletop, as if the last person who'd eaten there had been a slob and the busboy not very diligent. The restaurant was empty, but familiar. Their mother had worked there as a waitress the last few years of her life. It was the most stable job she'd ever gotten, the only one she'd ever been proud of. Kate and Jason had spent many nights there, playing catch-up on each other's lives over dinner and giving their mom teasing smiles as she flitted about her customers, keeping her company from afar. It'd been as much a home as any of the dozen or so apartments they'd lived in over the years, so it didn't surprise Kate to find herself dreaming about it now, when she needed something familiar, something close to her heart.

Like Jason. He gave her a sad little smile over the table. It made sense that his expression would match her own.

"We named the baby Elizabeth, after Mom," he told her.

Kate straightened slightly in surprise. "So it _is_ a girl. Sarah totally called that one. But I thought you were going to name it Susan?"

"We were. But then she was born and her _eyes!_ Kate, they are _so_ blue! Just like Mom's were."

"All babies' eyes are blue when they're first born, Jason. Geez, as a doctor shouldn't you know that?" Kate didn't know why she bothered admonishing him, since this wasn't a real conversation and, therefore, not a real issue. But she was unable to help herself. It felt nice dealing with such an easy, silly problem for a change. "What are you going to do when her eyes turn brown? Or green?"

"These won't," he said with the utmost confidence. "I'm telling you, Kate. It's like Mom's been reincarnated."

Kate laughed. It felt good. "You're such a mystic. I can't believe you actually graduated in something as scientific as medicine."

"A wise man keeps his mind open to everything," Jason intoned sagely.

"Is that a quote?"

"Yep. Mine." He grinned, but after a few seconds, it faded, and his face took on a wistful expression. "It's a nice feeling."

"What is?"

"Thinking that maybe a part of Mom is in our beautiful little baby. That she's been given a second chance at a better life. I can give her that now."

Kate smiled sadly. She knew Jason felt guilty about how hard their mom had struggled while they were growing up. She had too, but not nearly as much as him. As "man of the house", he'd always considered himself responsible for his mother and sister's well-being, even though he'd only been a child himself. His inability to do anything had been a constant source of frustration for him, though not as frustrating as watching their mother pass away just when he'd reached a place where he could've made a difference in their lives.

"I wish you would answer your phone," he whispered suddenly. It was such a random thing to say, and the way he said it… like it hurt. Kate hadn't spared a single thought over losing her rented cell before now, but the worry must have been lurking in her subconscious somewhere for Jason to be talking about it.

"It was stolen by an ancient Roman thief," she replied, deciding to try and lighten the mood with, sadly enough, the truth.

Jason huffed what might have been a laugh. "It figures you'd say something ridiculous like that. Like you could actually tell me what's going on."

Kate bit her lip. She didn't know what was going on herself, so of course he didn't know.

"I can't feel you anymore, Kate," he told her, hands fisting on the tabletop. "I usually have a sense of how you're doing, but it's gone now. Like you're just not… _there_."

"I'm fine," she told him, but it was an automatic response.

Jason narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you really?"

She wanted to say yes, for her own subconscious benefit at least, but she couldn't.

"Even my dreams aren't reassuring," Jason muttered, and Kate frowned. Now _that_ was an odd thing for him to say. She'd never had a dream before where the people in it also thought they were dreaming.

Her brother sighed and leaned forward, taking her hands in his. His fingers felt extra heavy around hers, his palms extra hot.

"I hope you're okay, wherever you are," he murmured. "I'll be very upset if I gain a daughter only to lose a sister."

Kate stared into his eyes, and in that moment she could have sworn, _sworn_ that it was really him looking back at her. Not a dream Jason or a figment-of-her-imagination Jason, but the real Jason. Her twin brother and best friend of twenty-five years.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

Kate shook her head. "I feel like I'm losing my mind."

"Well you know what they say—" he started, but a sudden wailing broke through the silence of the restaurant, cutting him off. Jason looked up at the ceiling with concern.

"What is it?" asked Kate.

"Elizabeth. She must be—"

But her brother never finished. The wail shifted into a piercing cry that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Jason's image flickered then disappeared like movie screen cutting out. Immediately the tables, the chairs, the very walls collapsed in on themselves, as if the building no longer had the strength to remain standing now that Jason was gone. Kate suffered a brief moment of panic, but then the lights snapped off, the floor disappeared, and she fell out of her dream and back into consciousness with all the delicacy of a trap door being pulled.

* * *

When Crispinus got back to their room the first thing he noticed was that the breakfast he'd retrieved for Kate before going to the market still sat on the stool, untouched. The second thing he noticed was that Kate was awake but still in bed, watching him with big tear-filled eyes and a blotchy red face.

Crying again.

_Gladiators don't comfort_ , he reminded himself even as he crossed the room and knelt down beside the bed. _Gladiators don't comfort. Gladiators don't comfort._

But she'd let him hold her last night. That was the same thing, wasn't it? Slowly, he reached out and wiped away the wetness under her eyes. Kate's lids drooped and she leaned into his touch as if she found his palm cool and soothing, instead of hot, calloused and dirty like he knew it was. She didn't yell at him to leave her alone, didn't act as if his gentleness disgusted her. On the contrary, she looked thankful.

"I bought you some clothes," he blurted out.

She opened her eyes. Crispinus held up the fabric. She sat up and he tried to hide his disappointment as her cheek left his hand. He was the one who'd broken the moment, after all.

He handed her the clothes and watched those expressive eyes of hers as she stared down at what he'd given her. Confusion crossed their depths. Then surprise. Then… reluctance?

"No," she said with that strange accent of hers. "No" was one of the few words she seemed to know in Latin besides her oddly thorough catalogue of the human body. Also "here", "yes", and his name of course.

He liked the last one the best.

Crispinus frowned. "What do you mean 'no'? You need clothes, Kate. You can't keep walking around as you are. It's not proper."

She shook her head and tried to push the clothes back at him, but he moved away. What was wrong with her? Women loved to get clothes. They were always talking about the changing styles and how good so-and-so looked in that _stolla_ —a hint that they wanted their own. Some flat-out demanded that they be taken shopping. And, yet, here Kate was, looking more distressed than ever. It only confirmed what Crispinus already suspected: she was different from the others. Special. And maybe… no. He shoved the thought away before it could finish.

"I am not taking the clothes back," he told her firmly. "So you might as well wear them." He folded his arms across his chest in a 'and that's final' gesture. It was a move his father had employed often when trying to get his feisty Greek wife to stand down. It had always worked.

Well... mostly always.

Kate stared down at the clothes, and after heaving a great sigh as if heavily burdened, nodded.

"Good. So you're going to get changed and then you're going to eat something, because I'll not have you skipping meals and getting weak. And then we're going to go somewhere to get you're mind off this—" His sentence caught in his throat as Kate rose and wrapped her arms around him.

"It's only some cloth, woman, really," he spluttered, but she didn't let go. If anything, her grip tightened. He'd never been hugged by a woman besides his mother before, and she'd passed away when he was still a young child. It had been years since... well, if felt nice to experience it again. And the fact that _Kate_ had initiated it… It was only polite to return the gesture. That's what she wanted, right?

As gently as he could, he embraced her. She was just the right height that he could lay his head on top of hers, and as he did so, he released a sigh that blew her rumpled hair about his face and tickled his cheek. Feelings of tenderness engulfed him. This is what he wanted. A woman he could hold. A woman who wanted to be held and wasn't ashamed that the man doing it was a gladiator. _Former_ gladiator, he corrected himself. Was it so bad to want such a thing? Or to want Kate to be that woman? Was he wrong to ask for it?

Maybe not. But it _would_ be asking for trouble. Kate might very well be innocent, but until Crispinus was sure, he couldn't take the risk.

With no small amount of regret, he pushed Kate away. He thought she looked a little disappointed, but it was probably just wishful thinking.

"Get dressed," he said brusquely, pointed at the clothes she held. Kate returned to the bed and separated the pieces of fabric, holding one thing up and then another. She shot him a glance and Crispinus realized she wanted him to leave the room. The woman was nothing if not modest.

"I'll wait in the hall," he told her.

Five minutes later he stuck his head back in to see if she was done. Kate was standing in the same spot, wearing the same clothes as before, and holding up a pale pink _palla_ looking utterly lost. A thought occurred to Crispinus then.

"Do you… have you never worn Roman dress?" he asked her, tugging at his own _tunica_.

She seemed to understood the gist of the question because shook her head.

Crispinus took a breath. He had undressed enough women in his time to know where and how everything went. But Kate wasn't just any woman, and as far as the physical aspect of their relationship went, he was trying very hard to give her room, because she seemed to want it. This didn't seem like room to him.

But who else was going to show her how to get dressed?

"Do you want help?" he asked carefully, pointing at the cloth in her hand and then to himself. She looked from him to the _palla_ , back to him to the _palla_ again. Clearly debating.

Finally, she nodded. Some invisible tension left Crispinus' shoulders. He crossed over to her and took the _palla_ from her. He set it back on the bed and picked up the _stola_.

"You're going to need to take that off first," he said, gesturing to her own strange clothes.

Hesitating only a moment, she tugged off the outfit, leaving her in the same strange undergarments he'd seen before with the wrap still snug around her ribs. She didn't pose or try to look alluring. She just stood there, her face glowing red with embarrassment, her breasts rising and falling gently as she breathed, waiting for him to help her. Her innocent stance combined with the warning in her eyes that all but dared him to make a move was one of the sexiest things he'd ever seen.

Shaking off his lustful thoughts before they got him into trouble, he helped her into the _stola_. It was a light blue color, wrapped just above her breasts and falling to her ankles like a pastel waterfall. He grabbed the thin white _palla_ next and slipped it over her head, fastening it at each shoulder with a silver clasp. It looked like mist rising from the pale blue waters. He looked up to find Kate still blushing, her dark hair looking as shiny and soft as the fabric she kept fingering.

"You're beautiful," he told her.

He could have groaned when her eyes filled with tears again, but she hastily wiped them away and offered him a tentative smile instead. Most women would have milked those tears for all they were worth, but not Kate.

"Come," he said. "Let us go try to cheer you up." Without even thinking about it, he held out his hand. It was a humiliating slip, an open offer of affection. But before he could pull away or make an excuse for it, Kate's hand was there, wrapping softly around his own.

"Yes," she said, and gave him another one of those hesitant smiles.

_No_ , _not just dangerous_ , Crispinus thought. _This woman was deadly_.

* * *

Persephone nibbled on a pomegranate as she wandered about the banks of Lethe. It was one of her favorite places to visit and her favorite of the Underworld's five rivers by far. Unlike the Acheron—the River of Woe—where the ferryman Charon spent his days transporting the newly dead from the land of the living to the land of the Underworld, or the Cocytus—the River of Lamentation—where those who did not receive proper burials were cursed to wander the river's banks, the Lethe was the River of Forgetfulness. Here, those who wished for another chance at life could come and drink. All their sins, all their pain, all their memories of their past life and their time spent in the Underworld would be washed away, and their soul taken and reincarnated into a new body. A fresh start.

Like Crispinus.

Persephone smiled fondly into the mirror floating along beside her. The gladiator had taken the female mortal, _Kate_ , to one of the more popular shipping ports. He stood tall and proud next to her, one hand on the hilt of his sword, looking about and pointing occasionally to things that caught his attention. Kate sat on the ground, her legs dangling over the side of one of the stone walls that surrounded the waters, leaning back on her hands as she took in the sights with an almost critical eye.

Crispinus said something to her, but Persephone couldn't hear it. The mirror could show her what was happening but granted her nothing beyond the visuals. If only she could hear what he was _saying_. She was tempted to pop over there and observe them in person, but she didn't dare with Hades around. He'd vanished off to somewhere—it was the only reason she'd risked sneaking out of the palace for these few minutes of privacy—but she knew he could reappear and any moment. Getting caught spying with the mirror would be bad enough. Getting caught leaving the Underworld, however… The goddess of spring shuddered. Hell hath no fury like, well, the ruler of hell. They didn't compare tempers to the Underworld for nothing after all.

She stroked the mirror with a delicate, pale fingertip. Its not-quite-substantial surface shimmered slightly as if catching a sudden glare off the Underworld sky before re-solidifying under her hand.

The gladiator and his woman looked so peaceful. Persephone gave a wistful sigh. New love was like spring in so many ways. Fresh and vibrant and full of promise. Nurtured correctly, its fruit could thrive through the summer, laugh at its struggles with the fall, and survive the dire perils of the winter to blossom stronger and more glorious than ever before the following year. She had faith that these two would thrive.

Pleased at how easily things were progressing, and confident that the mortals were at ease enough that she could leave them alone for awhile without missing anything significant, Persephone pocketed the mirror and headed back to the palace.

* * *

Kate sighed. Everything was so peaceful here along the water bank; the air was warm, the tide was gentle, the water unpolluted by boat exhaust or trash like plastic bottles or Styrofoam cups. Great wooden ships—some plain, some inlaid with designs in gold like the one currently passing by—cut through the clear blue waters with majestic ease, their great white sails catching the winds and propelling them forward along with the help of a dozen or so oars that paddled the water, making the ships look like some sort of graceful, wooden, sea millipedes.

And yet…

And yet Kate wanted to scream.

And it wasn't because she was stuck back in time, or because she desperately missed her brother, or because she was uncomfortable with her dress, both its style and the fact that the gladiator had forced it on her as a surprise gift, though all those things were more than true.

No, she wanted to scream because of Crispin.

She appreciated his effort to distract her by giving her a tour of the city. It was thoughtful and she was up for anything that would get her mind off things for a while. But halfway to this ancient shipping yard he'd somehow gotten it into his head to start teaching her Latin.

_Latin_ , for Christ's sake!

At first, she hadn't realized what he was doing, not being able to understand him and all. But after pointing to five different passing horses being led by their masters and calling them ' _equus_ ', and then to a couple kids and calling them ' _liberi_ ', and then to a stray dog and calling it ' _canis_ ', she'd started to get it.

And it pissed her off.

Yes, she was out of ideas how to get home. And yes, it would be a good idea to learn the language so she could at least communicate with those around her without having to resort to playing charades every time she needed to say something. But she was still fresh in mourning the loss of her own world; the last thing she wanted to do was begin assimilating to a new one. It felt too much like surrender.

_But isn't that what you've done already?_ a voice she didn't recognize in her head asked her. _You've given up looking for that tour guide. You let the gladiator take you back to his place last night_ and _let him drag you around here all morning today. You even used their disgusting toilets again._

_That's not surrendering_ , she argued, though she was damned if she could think of another word for it.

Deep down, she knew learning the language was the rational thing to do, knew she should learn as much as Crispin was willing to teach her. He was thinking ahead; who'd have thought a gladiator could be so damn practical? But it was too much, too soon. The straw, the camel, all the crap. And though she was trying to be polite and stay silent, each new term he threw at her pricked at her already volatile emotions, and after three hours of it, she was at her breaking point.

" _Pennipotenti_ ," Crispin said, unaware of her irritation as he pointed out what must have been the twentieth group of seagulls they'd seen that day. From her place on the ground, Kate clenched her fists and tried to imagine that she was home.

" _Navis_ ," Crispin said, pointing out yet another ship.

" _Aqua_." He gestured to the water.

Kate struggled to ignore him, but his voice was deep and rumbling. Loud enough and powerful enough to cut through her most stubborn mental wallowing.

" _Divum_." He waved a hand at the sky

" _Terra_." He stomped the ground. " _Silicis_ —"

" _Murus_ and _ager_! _Ventus_ and _calcei_! _Galea_ and _carrus_!" Kate cried, leaping to her feet despite the pain it caused her ribs. She glared at the gladiator. "I don't care, I don't care, I don't care! I can't handle this right now all right, Crispin? I'm sorry, but I just can't do it. So stop. Please stop, right now, before I go just ape-shit crazy and lose whatever's left of my sanity, okay? _Please_."

She let her chin fall and rubbed furiously and her temples. A headache was fast approaching and it wasn't looking to take any prisoners.

Beside her, Crispin remained silent. Great. She'd pissed off the gladiator. If he walked away from her right now and left her here, she'd have no one to blame but herself.

She peeped up at him from under her lashes to see that he had gone into complete stoic mode. What did that mean? Had she hurt his feelings? Or was he so angry that he couldn't even speak?

Crap.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to yell at you like that. It's just… this whole situation is so screwed up and overwhelming and I just… I'm just feeling a little homesick, I guess. Forgive me?"

Nothing.

Double crap.

* * *

For a moment, Crispinus could only stand there.

_There it is!_ his mind cried. _The evidence you were looking for. Her true nature. Lashing out at you when you're only trying to aid her in her Latin._

But instead of feeling angry for the way Kate had erupted at him, Crispinus felt oddly relieved. Not that he would have admitted it to anyone, but her silent moroseness had been getting to him. He wasn't used to entertaining an unhappy woman, nor was he used to being ignored.

He didn't care for either.

And he could see how she might get frustrated. It was understandable given the circumstances. Already she looked uneasy, as if she regretted lashing out so boldly at the one person who was trying to help her; that alone made forgiveness easy. No woman, no matter how wrong they might have been, had ever apologized to him about anything. Ever. And though he didn't understand what she had just said to him exactly, her words had definitely sounded apologetic.

But apparently, she wasn't open to the idea of learning Latin, which was frustrating, because they needed to be able to talk to each other if they were ever going to figure this mess out. They didn't have a lot of options unfortunately, and as much as he admired her other qualities, this stubbornness of hers to stay ignorant was going to have to go.

But how to get _her_ to understand that.

Crispinus heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. Just like before, Kate's gaze followed the movement raptly. She seemed to have a definite attraction to his curls. If only he could get her to show the same amount of interest in his body.

At that, a wicked idea materialized in his mind, and Crispinus was desperate enough for Kate's attentions to act on it.

Instead of letting his hand drop when he reached the back of his neck, Crispinus moved his hand back through the thick mess of hair in the opposite direction. When Kate's eyes stayed firmly fixated, he repeated the motion.

Back and forth…

Back and forth…

When he began moving his hand in circles, she blinked and her eyes snapped down to his face, taking in the mischievous glint in his eye and the tiny curl of his lips.

_Caught you_ , he thought smugly as she abruptly averted her eyes, her plump cheeks glowing so red that they looked like a small pair of apples.

He chuckled and dropped his hand.

Or at least, he tried to. It seemed, during his ruffling, that a couple curls had twisted around his fingers, securely trapping his hand to his head.

Crispinus cursed.

As subtly as he could, he tried to tug his hand free. It didn't work. The blonde locks only squeezed tighter, cutting off the blood flow and making his fingers turn numb. _Gods,_ but this was embarrassing!

He glanced over at Kate to see if she had noticed this indignity. She had, of course. Her blushing had subsided, and though she was doing a good job of not laughing, there was a definite serves-you-right twinkle in her eye. Mortified, Crispinus tugged harder. It hurt. And it didn't free him.

"I could use some help," he huffed finally, trying to retain some of his dying pride by sounding extra gruff.

Kate rolled her eyes but moved forward, gesturing for him to kneel. Crispinus hesitated only a moment before lowering himself down. He'd never kneeled before a woman, though the gods knew, many had tried to make him. Who wouldn't want to brag that they'd brought a gladiator to his knees? They would never believe the first person to do so was little Kate, a slip of a foreigner who achieved it with nothing more than a couple flicks of her dainty hand. It was… humbling. He seemed to be experiencing that a lot lately, thanks to Kate. Frankly, it terrified him.

But he stayed where he was.

For the next five minutes, Kate picked and plucked at his hair with deft little fingers. Her touch was exceedingly tender, and if she pulled a stray strand and made him wince, she'd coo and murmur and gently rub away the pain. It was the closest anyone had ever come to doting on him before and Crispinus had to admit he was guilty of making a few false winces just to prolong the experience.

When his fingers were finally free Kate extracted his hand, but to Crispinus's surprise, didn't remove her own. Instead she borrowed her fingers deeper into his curls, her fragile little nails scraping lightly over his scalp. Crispinus's eyes shuttered at the sensation, thinking of how many other places on his body he wanted to feel those nails of hers. On his arms… his back… his hips… his thighs…

Crispinus groaned and bowed his head. He was so close to Kate that the silky fabric of her _palla_ blew against his cheeks in a delicate caress with every gust of the ocean breeze. It was a tease. A lure. One he was helpless to fight.

Forgetting the humility of being on his knees before a woman, forgetting his promise not to show any affection, Crispinus reached up to capture her hips, pressing his face into the soft warm swell of Kate's stomach. She smelled like grapes and wine and woman, with just the lightest hint of sweat and sea salt. The hunger those smells awoke in him would have buckled his knees had still been standing.

He felt Kate's breath hitch and her ministrations to his hair falter. Panic stirred within him. What if she rejected him? What if she shoved him away or hit him for his unwelcome advance upon her? The thought made something in his soul tremble, and he realized that he didn't even have a way to cover for his wanting behavior, no excuses for his weak actions. If he was going to act so rashly, he at least should keep a ready excuse. _Never leave yourself open_. When would he learn?

But then Kate murmured something and her fingers resumed their tender sweeps and tugs. A shudder wracked Crispinus's body at the acceptance and he wrapped his arms around her waist, squeezing as tight as he dared. The relief he felt… and the _joy_. As much as he tried to deny it, he wanted this woman. Craved her. She was different. Unique. Special. And would be his undoing, he knew.

He still couldn't make himself pull away.

"Crispin!"

That warning barely penetrated the heavy peace clouding his mind when someone grabbed his shoulder.

Someone who wasn't Kate.

Thirteen years of instinct took over. Crispinus grabbed the offending hand and whirled up and around, twisting his attacker's arm so that the man was forced to turn and drop to his knees in order to avoid having his arm popped out of its socket. Crispinus pulled out his sword and pressed the blade flush against the side of the man's neck.

"No! Crispin, no!" Kate cried.

"Stay back!" Crispinus ordered, and the ferocity of his tone was enough to drive her back several steps. A brief flare of fear lit her eyes, and he hated it. But her protection came first. He could win back any trust he needed to later.

Her gaze flickered to his attacker-gone-captive, open terror in her expression. Did she fear for the man's life, or just for the man? And why should the thought of one bother Crispinus more than the other? Did she know him? Was this who she had been looking for yesterday? If it was, Crispinus should kill the bastard right now for leaving such an innocent young woman alone on her own. If any female required a diligent keeper, it was Kate, and this man was definitely not it.

Crispinus eyed the man on his knees more closely. He faced away from him, and because of the angle, all Crispinus could see was the top of his fluffy brown head and the clean white robes that represented the upper class. Strange, that a royal would attack him.

"Look up, you _baro_ , and let me see the face of the man cowardly enough to attack me when my back was turned."

The man tilted his head back, but instead of glaring or sobbing or acting in any way angry or terrified, he beamed up at Crispinus with pure joy in his eyes. "Crispinus Agallon, the gladiator! I knew it was you the minute I spotted you. It is an honor, sir, truly!"

Crispinus blinked. The man's face was baby smooth, not a man at all but a boy. And he was weaponless, something Crispinus hadn't noticed before. No wonder Kate was so frightened. This wasn't her keeper or even a mercenary sent by Cato. This was just some young unarmed patrician who was apparently an admirer of his.

Before he could get over the shock of that, a yell rang out. Crispinus looked up to see an older gentleman and two more lads making their way over the top of a nearby hill on horseback. Five guards flanked them on either side. Some of the men looked worried, others angry. A few though, the ones that must have seen him fight in the arena, looked as awestruck as the lad.

"Father!" the boy called out cheerfully. He did not seem the least bit distressed about being at the end of a sword held by one of Rome's most vicious gladiators. Crispinus let him go and withdrew his blade, but he did not sheath it in case the boy's father decided to send his guards after him—something Crispinus knew was well within the man's right. He'd threatened the life of a patrician's son. Better men than him had been killed for less.

"Kate," he whispered. Immediately she was there, and he nudged her so that she was mostly behind him. No matter what happened, he wouldn't let them hurt her for his mistake.

"Did you see me, Father?" trilled the boy, leaping to his feet now that he was free and all but hopping up and down in his excitement. "Did you see how Agallon took me down in one move? Wasn't it exciting?"

By now, the small group had gathered close. Crispinus took note of how all the men had the short-cropped hair and stern features of military men, even the two boys who were older than the one he'd caught, but who still didn't look anywhere near old enough to be sent off to war. Then again, Crispinus had become a gladiator at sixteen, and the boys looked at least that. And, after all, the odds of surviving in a war were ten times better than surviving in the arena.

The father stopped his horse just far enough away to be out of reach of Crispinus's sword, but still close enough that Crispinus could sense his displeasure like an invisible wave. Fortunately, the man's attentions were focused on his son.

"Yes, I witnessed your foolishness," he answered darkly. "You are lucky he didn't run you through. You know better than to sneak up on a man, and a gladiator at that! You'll not survive the year if you keep acting this way."

The boy lowered his head, properly chastened. "Sorry, Father. It won't happen again."

The man nodded and snapped his fingers. One of the other guards had a riderless horse tied to his own. He undid the knot in the reins and passed them to the boy, who took them and mounted up. Once he was in the saddle, his gaze latched right back onto Crispinus. The look of wonder on his face was so intense as to be uncomfortable.

The father turned to Crispinus. He didn't bow, but he didn't look ready to order Crispinus's death either. A good sign.

"My apologies, Gladiator. My son gets overexcited at times and forgets himself."

"It's fine," Crispinus answered, greatly relieved that he wouldn't have to shed blood again in front of Kate. "I should not have acted so impulsively."

The man gave another nod, then added with a cock of his head, "It's a bit odd for you to be out on your own, is it not? I was under the impression that gladiators were kept under a closer watch."

The jab at his status was expected, but it still hurt.

"I am a gladiator no longer," Crispinus told him, taking satisfaction at the man's look of surprise. "My freedom was granted just two days ago."

"Really?" For the first time, a spark of interest flared through the patrician's shell of cool dignity. Crispinus nodded.

The man fell silent, looking thoughtful as he raked his gaze over him in a way that was clearly assessing. The blatant judgment made Crispinus's hackles rise. As if Kate could sense his tension, she moved forward and placed her hand on his arm in a silent show of support. It touched him deeply, and made him feel proud in a way he hadn't felt in a very long time. Most women would be mortified to even be seen in public with him. And yet Kate's action boldly announced that she was with him, and that she didn't care who knew it.

Crispinus placed his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. She looked up at him, and though there was still a shadow of sadness in her eyes, she smiled encouragingly. Crispinus made a vow right then and there that he would make that sadness go away. If it was the last thing he did, he would make her happy again.

"My apologies, I've seem to have forgotten my manners entirely," the man said, having apparently come up with the answer to whatever mental debate he'd been waging with himself. "My name is Quintus Flavonius Hardalio, consul to Rome. And these are my sons Tiburtius, Macrinus, and Lucan."

The first two boys gave curt nods when he said their names. The youngest one however, practically fell off his horse, he bowed with such enthusiasm. Kate giggled quietly. It was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful sounds Crispinus had ever heard. He might have laughed too, if it weren't for the knowledge that this man before him was a consul. There were only two consuls in all of Rome, and they held the highest seats in office save the Emperor.

"I am hosting a party tonight," Hardalio went on. "You should stop by." His tone of voice hinted heavily that turning down his offer would be a bad idea.

Crispinus was tempted to try and weasel out of it anyway, but then he thought of Kate. There were likely to be dozens of people at this party. If she was looking for someone, then it would be wise to go.

_But what if you find them_? a small voice in his head asked.

_Then that would be a good thing,_ he thought back. But it didn't feel like it would be good. On the contrary, just the thought of her leaving made him feel sick.

_It would be for the best_ , he told himself. _Kate could go home happy and I would save myself one wallop of a disillusionment._

_But you'll be unhappy if she leaves._

It was true. But he'd be heartbroken if she stayed and he found her inner character to be as lacking as all the others as well. Though for the first time, he was having doubts about that.

If he was wrong though…

Crispinus sighed. No matter what he did, the odds were he would lose.

Crispinus gave Hardalio a small bow, and to his surprise, Kate copied him. "It would be our honor to attend your party, my lord."


	8. Chapter Seven

"Holy shit!"

Kate surfaced with a startled laugh and shivered as every inch of her skin erupted into goosebumps from the extreme cold. After being so hot for so long, the shoulder-deep water she waded in now felt as if it had been melted off the polar ice caps.

From the edge of the pool her shadow and little helper Claudia–a refreshingly normal name considering—giggled in shocked surprise at Kate's loud exclamation.

Kate blushed. She hadn't meant to swear, but the temperature had caught her by surprise, despite being forewarned that the room was called the frigidarium.

More fool her.

Kate sent a playful splash at Claudia, causing the girl shriek and jump away. Well, hobble away. Even layered in robes as she was, it was obvious Claudia suffered from some sort of disfigurement to her right leg. It showed in the slightly crooked way the girl stood and her uneven gate when she walked. But even lacking grace she was beautiful, with bright blue eyes, a pale, slim figure, and blonde ringlet hair. Crippled or not, when she got older the men would be begging to marry her.

And she had an endless amount of patience for Kate's ignorance, thank God. When they'd arrived at the bathhouse, Crispin had immediately been whisked off to the "man" side of the complex, leaving Kate at a complete loss. She didn't know the etiquette of washing in public or even where to wash at.

Fortunately, Crispin must have mentioned something to the owners, because their ten year-old daughter popped up not two minutes later to help guide Kate through the process of bathing. It was obvious from the mass of people gathered here that it was a popular if not daily ritual to come, clean, and socialize, and Kate found it ironic that she was from the future and yet she was the one feeling like a barbarian for not knowing how to clean herself.

The first place Claudia had taken her to was a small room filled with cubbyholes made of stone. Here Kate undressed—wrap and all—and stored her things into one of the few empty nooks left in the wall. Claudia had been embarrassingly curious about her underwear. Apparently they didn't wear any here, and of course, the stitching was far superior to anything currently being made by hand yet, which left an impressed Claudia fingering at the wire sewn into the bra's cups and stretching out the elastic on Kate's panties, making soft little "oooh" noises every time it snapped back to form.

Eventually, wearing nothing but a pair of sandals and a furious blush, Kate had been led by a perky Claudia into the next room, called the tepidarium. It reminded Kate a lot of a sauna. The room was moderate in size but stylish and artsy looking. The walls wrapped in a semi-circle around the only doorway and were decorated with cheerful reliefs in stucco of women bathing under a waterfall. The floors were heated so that the air was thick and humid. Within seconds Kate broke out into a sweat—which, when she looked around at all the other perspiring, naked females scattered around the room, seemed to be general the idea.

Claudia had steered Kate over to a stone bench and covered her in something that smelled suspiciously like olive oil, chatting good-naturedly as if it were perfectly normal to smear liquid all over a strange woman's body. When Kate was good and covered, Claudia proceeded to scrape the oil and sweat off with a curved piece of metal she called a strigil. It felt pretty nice actually, and Kate knew that the oil was probably the closest thing to soap she was likely going to get, so she savored it.

When Claudia was done, Kate had been ushered into yet another room. The calidarium. This room was a little larger and had a circular pool in the middle of it. Like the tepidarium, the air was very warm but the waters of the pool were one degree below boiling. It was like a Jacuzzi, only without the bubbles.

Claudia brought Kate some fresh bread and a cup of wine to drink while she simmered for a while. The wine was a much better quality than what she'd been drinking, which meant it was also a lot stronger. Kate made sure to sip only; she didn't need to make a fool of herself by getting tipsy and doing something rash.

The room had been very quiet and peaceful. Kate's headache had dimmed and for that alone she was grateful. She could have stayed there all day admiring the brightly tiled frescos that decorated the walls and imagining that she was in some fancy-schmancy spa being pampered, but Claudia finally managed to coax her into the last room were Kate now stood, her teeth chattering and her nipples so hard she doubted they'd ever unpucker again.

Claudia crept back to the side of the pool and gave a shy little kick with her foot over the surface of the water in retaliation for Kate's attack. Kate let out a dramatic cry when the drops of water hit her, as if she had been mortally wounded, and pretended to drown. A couple of the women who shared the room with Kate and Claudia scowled at their less-than-mature antics.

Not that it mattered how Kate acted. She was definitely persona non grata here. Almost all the women had been sending lethal looks her way since she'd stepped inside the front atrium with Crispin. The expressions on their faces with they'd seen her standing next to the gladiator ranged from shock, to jealously, to disgust, and ever since then if they weren't glaring at her, they were whispering with such a furious intensity behind her back that it sounded as if a constant buzz of static was following her wherever she went. It was the only downer to an otherwise wonderful experience.

It did make Kate wonder about Crispin, though. Did their attitudes stem from the fact that she was with a famous fighter, or was it something else? Kate wasn't naïve. She knew that as a gladiator Crispin had probably been with his fair share of women, and the vibes she was getting from those around her hinted that she'd ruffled the feathers of more than a few of his former lovers. But could he have really been with all of them?

The thought made Kate feel a little ill. She wasn't a virgin by any means, but the idea that Crispin might have slept with every woman in the bathhouse seemed a bit excessive. She could not however, rule out the possibility altogether—as much as she might want to. Kate well remembered reading about famous historical men in her college history classes who went through hundreds of women and sired dozens upon dozens of children off them. With his fame, strength, and good looks, she could easily see how Crispin might be one of those men.

But if it was true then it made his affection towards her seem… less somehow. If he really bedded every woman he met, then maybe he viewed Kate as nothing more than another challenge.

Doesn't matter, she told herself. She wasn't here to find a guy. It was bad enough that she had to rely on Crispin as she was. She couldn't afford to get used to it or worse, become emotionally attached. Hence, her self-imposed rule about not sleeping with him.

Even the frozen water couldn't stave off the heat that flushed her body at that idea. Any minute he could leave her and then she'd be on her own again. She needed to figure out a way to get back home. Or at the very least, find some way to support herself so that if this little trip did become—God forbid—permanent, she wouldn't be screwed when Crispin finally left her. She wouldn't be her mother. She wouldn't pin all her hopes on a man just to find herself abandoned and without options when he eventually left her.

Her memory shuffled back to that morning by the water when he'd pressed his face against her stomach and held onto her as if a single gust of wind might blow her away. He hadn't seemed ready to leave her then. He hadn't seemed like some kind of ancient playboy either. He'd seemed like a man. A man desperate for affection. Her affection. And God help her, she had wanted to give it to him.

But if it was all a lie…

Doesn't matter, she repeated firmly. Even though she knew, deep down, it did.

A woman entered the frigidarium then. She was naked except for her sandals just like everyone else, and like everyone else—save Kate—she didn't seem the least bit self-conscious about it.

Not that she had any reason to be. The tall blonde beauty probably invented the word 'luscious.' Kate wouldn't have noted the woman's appearance at all, except that there was a distinct feeling of hostility radiating off her, and she was, of course, headed straight her way.

"Uh-oh," said Kate, and a glance at Claudia's worried expression said she seconded that.

Kate hovered near the wall of the pool, debating whether or not it would be wiser to get out of the water or stay in. If she got out she'd at least be on even ground, floor-wise—the woman still had her in height by almost a foot—however, it would be harder for her to attack if Kate was in the water.

Kate looked the woman over again, trying to gauge just how angry she was.

Kate stayed in.

Valencia was beside herself with rage as she stalked through the frigidarium. When she'd arrived at the bathhouse and heard the news that the gladiator Crispinus was not only free, but here with a woman, it was all she could do not to rip out the tongue of the person who had told her.

Who did she think she was to make such a move? The gladiator was spoken for, by Valencia and over three dozen other women in line behind her. She had waited a long time for her chance at the man, and Valencia would sooner bed the god of the Underworld then allow some ignorant little slut to ruin that.

"Greetings, whore," Valencia said pleasantly to the dark-haired woman in the water. Claudia, who was standing next to her at the pool's edge, flinched at the insult, but the subject of her ire didn't seem the least bit perturbed by it. On the contrary, she offered a very big—if not very false—smile, and replied, "Hello."

So the little snake in the grass thought herself bold. Ha. She was about to learn what happened when she messed with vipers.

"The rumor is that you're the woman who convinced Crispinus to finally take his freedom. Tell me, did you care so little for your reputation that you were willing to ruin it by being with a gladiator? Or was your reputation so poor already that it didn't matter you mingled publicly with a slave?"

Valencia's words dripped from her lips like sweetened venom, but besides a momentary frown on the woman's part, she in no way seemed offended by what had been said. Even stranger, she didn't respond back. She only widened that fake smile of hers and shrugged.

"Please," Claudia replied, stepping forward. "Katelyn doesn't speak much Latin."

"A foreign whore?" No wonder the insults hadn't bothered her. The stupid bitch couldn't understand anything she said!

Valencia held back a sneer as she raked the woman with her gaze. It was even worse than she'd thought. Foreign. The word made her want to spit. Not even Roman! It was an insult to every female Crispinus had ever bedded. The idea that they'd been overlooked for this—for her—it was disgusting.

Civil as you please, Valencia knelt down beside the pool's edge, as careful as if she were wearing an expensively woven toga that she didn't want to get wrinkled, instead of nothing but her own flawless skin. She was pleased that the woman, Katelyn, looked a bit nervous now. Even on her knees, Valencia towered over her in the water. No doubt the woman thought to escape her wrath by staying submerged.

Fool.

"Claudia, little chickadee," Valencia called sweetly. "Go fetch me a drink, will you? I find myself parched all of a sudden."

The little girl twisted the pair of sandals she was holding in her hands so hard that the leather squeaked from the strain. "Beg your pardon, but I'm not supposed to leave—"

"Go!" Valencia hissed. That single harsh command had the girl scurrying from the room as fast as her crippled leg could carry her. Satisfied, Valencia turned back to the foreigner. Katelyn's smile was gone now. That was good. But not good enough.

Valencia snapped out her hand. The whore saw it and tried duck away, but the water slowed her movements and Valencia managed to get a good fistful of her hair. The woman gave a strangled cry of pain as Valencia pulled her up out of the water by just her damp locks. She flailed and flopped like a dying fish, all sense of dignity forgotten as she struggled to free herself. Valencia would have laughed at such a pathetic sight if she had not been so enraged.

"Who do you think you are that you can steal the gladiator away from us so easily?" Valencia hissed at her. "I don't care how many times he's fucked you. Women better than yourself have been waiting years for the day when he would take his freedom, and I refuse to let a man like Crispinus go to waste on a pathetic foreign whore like you. Do you hear me? I refuse!"

Before she could even try to respond to that, Valencia shoved the woman under the water, smiling as she fought and clawed at the hand keeping her trapped beneath the surface.

The few other women in the room had departed along with Claudia, leaving Valencia with no possible witnesses to her crime. If murder was what was called for, she was more than willing. She'd done it easily enough to her husband, the cheating bastard. Valencia didn't care what was socially acceptable. She refused to share her man with another woman and the same held true now. It was why this one had to die. Crispinus would understand. He would probably even be proud of her. A woman to match his own passionate ruthlessness. Yes, surely he would appreciate that.

Kate's lungs burned as if she'd swallowed the entire pool of the calidarium. Her vision was going too, but with all the foam and bubbles she was working up with her thrashing, sight didn't matter much right then.

She scratched and pulled at the arm holding her under, twisting in every direction she could think of to try and loosen the evil woman's hold. She hadn't caught much of her ranting, but she'd understood one thing: Crispinus. The damn gladiator had angered the woman badly enough to turn her murderous, and Kate was the one chosen for retribution. It was unfair, and it really, really pissed her off. Could she for once meet someone in Rome who wasn't out to either murder, molest, or abduct her?

Kate felt down the woman's wrist to her hand, and she managed to latch onto one of her fingers that was buried in her hair.

Yes.

Kate didn't have the air to hesitate. She bent the digit back as far as she could, not stopping until she felt it give way with a hollow popping noise that sounded strangely deep under the water.

A shrill scream of agony rent the air and the woman pulled back. Kate exploded up out of the water, gasping for breath. To her left, the evil blonde was cradling her injured finger and screeching at the top of her lungs.

Kate didn't linger. She pulled herself out of the pool, and, on wobbly legs, ran for the hall, trying to blink away the black spots still winking in the periphery of her vision. She'd been around too many crazy women to believe that the fight was over. As soon as the woman got over her dislocated finger she would come after her, and Kate didn't plan on being defenseless when she did.

She made straight for the room that held her clothes and, more importantly, the dagger Crispin had stuck in her boot. She ignored the stares and shrieks she drew as she sprinted past the other women. Kate knew she must look crazy. She was weaving around like the worst kind of drunk. She was naked, dripping wet, and her hair hung around her face in a million tiny frizzy knots that were going to be a bitch to pick out later. But she didn't care. Already she could hear the angry pounding of sandaled feet chasing after her. That hadn't taken long. If she hadn't been trying to kill her, Kate would have admired the woman for her ability to persevere through pain. But as it was…

Kate dashed into the empty cubby room and hurried over to where her clothes were stored. She dug until she found her boots, extracted the blade, and turned back around just when the evil blonde had reached the doorway.

Kate whirled on her, holding the dagger out to ward the crazy bitch off. She honestly wasn't sure what she planned to do. Killing the woman didn't seem smart. Or feasible. As pissed as Kate was, she didn't think she had the stomach to kill someone in cold blood.

"Quis est occuro hic?"

Kate glanced over to the corner on her right. Apparently the room wasn't as empty as she'd thought. The owner's small, pudgy wife stood there, hands on hips. The fury in her expression was such that instead of lowering her dagger, Kate lifted it higher.

Crap.

"It feels weird, doesn't it?"

Crispinus tore his eyes away from the notice board to glare at the man who had sidled up next to him while he'd been reading. By the gods, was he losing his touch already? That was the second time today someone had managed to sneak up on him. Laziness like this is what got men killed in the arena. He knew better.

"What does?" Crispinus asked.

The man smiled knowingly and nodded at the wide strip of linen nailed to the wall. It listed the weekly activities going on in the area, along with a few religious anecdotes and some of the more important political activities happening in the senate. What had captured Crispinus's attention so completely though—and what the man was referring to now—was the paragraph at the bottom, which announced that the gladiator, Crispinus Agallon, wouldn't be participating in the Colosseum games next week, having been released from service.

"I used to be a gladiator too, you know. Tertius Herminius Victor. They used to call me Victor the Victorious."

The name was vaguely familiar. Crispinus looked the man over and could see how he might have been a professional fighter. He was slightly shorter than Crispinus but just as broad and muscular. His dark hair was trimmed short and neat. He reeked of sweat, but then, so did everyone else in the exercise yard. Around them men wrestled, lifted weights, and tossed discuses, and over the in the corner a group of serious looking women played a fierce game of trochus. Crispinus was the only clean one, having finished bathing and come out to wait for Kate.

"When were you freed?"

"About seven years ago. You were just on the rise then, I remember. The men talked about you constantly." Victor snorted. "More than a few were scared to death at the thought of facing you in the arena. Even the experienced ones."

A long time ago, that kind of flattering remark would've had Crispinus preening for the rest of the day. But though he still felt the satisfaction all men feel when complimented about their success in battle, it no longer buoyed him into arrogance like it used to. Instead, he found himself wishing Kate were around to hear it. He could use the recommendation.

"Do you miss it?" he asked.

Victor thought about that for a minute, then shook his head. "I only miss the money. That's why I became a gladiator. My wife was pregnant and it was clear we weren't going to have enough to support the babe."

His expression turned sheepish. "I owed a lot of money to people too. And I wasn't talented in a lot of things, but I knew how to fight. Enrolling myself in gladiator school seemed the most practical move."

"So you made enough to cover your debts and support your family, and then you left."

Victor inclined his head.

Crispinus frowned. "But what about your wife?"

"Her family was more than happy to house her while I fought. And it was close enough that she could attend most of the games."

"That's not what I meant. Didn't your wife resent you for lowering your status? She wasn't shamed by that?"

Victor gave Crispinus a hard look. "My wife supported me every step of the way. Money's money and there were far less honorable ways to get it than competing in the arena. Win or lose, there wasn't a single fight where she didn't come and tell me afterward how proud of me she was." He chuckled. "And I had some pretty shameful losses, I'll admit. I wasn't always as victorious as I could have been."

Crispinus didn't share in the man's humor. He was too busy processing what he'd just been told. So there really was a woman in the world who wasn't completely wrapped up in her husband's social standing. It made him feel both relieved that it was true and envious that he didn't have that himself.

But maybe with Kate… If Victor's wife loved him enough to stand by him even as a slave, it made the goodness Crispinus saw in Kate that much more believable. Perhaps she wasn't too good to be true. Maybe it was all just… true.

"Agallon."

The owner of the bathhouse, Claudius, came hurrying over to him. At the grim look on his face, Crispinus stiffened. "Where's Kate?"

"There's been an… altercation," Claudius told him. "Between Kate and one of the other female bathers. She's fine, but I'm going to need you to come with me."

"Of course." Bidding Victor goodbye, Crispinus set off across the yard with the scowling owner leading the way. A lot of men called out greetings and congratulations as they passed, but Crispinus didn't hear them. His entire being was focused on getting to Kate.

As they walked, he wondered over all the reasons she might have a problem with one of the other bathers. What was there to be upset about in a bathhouse? The place was made specifically for peace and relaxation. Kate didn't seem like a trouble-starter, but women were strange, devious creatures, and as he'd warned himself earlier, he didn't know enough about Kate yet to make any kind of conclusion about the real type of person she was. Maybe she made it a habit of getting into fights with other women. Maybe under all that innocent sweetness was a volcano of rage waiting to erupt.

He thought about how she'd snapped at him earlier. Gods, let it not be true. It was too soon. Could the Fates not afford to postpone his disillusionment for a little while more? He would have fallen to his knees and begged right there if he thought it would do any good.

Claudius took him to a small library in the back and gestured for Crispinus to enter first. Inside it was empty of people save for three: Kate, the owner's wife, Aemilia, and their daughter, Claudia.

Claudia was wringing her hands and looking anxious, something that only got worse when she caught sight of Crispinus. Aemilia laid a restraining hand on the girl's shoulder. Though she showed no outward sign of distress, the cool look she shot him was answer enough of her mood.

Kate stood alone near one of the taller bookshelves. Her hair was a mess and she'd obviously dressed without drying off properly first, because the silky fabric clung to her body in the most distracting way. Her chin was lifted in silent defiance and he noted that the small dagger he'd given her was clutched tightly in her fist. He didn't see any blood on it.

Even knowing that she might very well have started the fight, Crispinus couldn't stop himself from going over to her. She looked so upset, it was instinct that pulled her into his arms in an attempt to comfort. To his surprise, however, Kate stiffened and pulled away, her fingers on the dagger twitching slightly as if tempted to stick him with it.

His heart felt sick. Not only had she gotten into a fight, but now she was refusing his touch. Just like all the others, angry and aloof.

Crispinus wanted to hit something. He'd told himself to anticipate this, but he hadn't realized the pain would be so immense. It shouldn't hurt this bad. It defied reason, the level of disappointment he felt. He'd thought Kate was different.

He looked down at her, knowing his sadness was clear but unable to hide it. She sent back such a vicious glare that he actually took a step away. Him. A gladiator!

"What happened?" he snapped, angry at his reaction, angry at Kate, but most of all angry at himself, for hoping when he'd known there was no real hope to begin with.

The question was directed at Claudius, but the man didn't answer. Instead, he nodded at Aemilia, who in turn gave her daughter a push towards Crispinus. Claudia blushed and shot a nervous glance in Kate's direction before speaking.

"One of the women attacked Katelyn, sir. In the frigidarium."

Kate had been the one attacked? Damn the hope that sprang back to life within him! It came too easy.

"Why? Over what?"

Claudia's blush deepened and she averted her eyes as she said, "Over you, sir."

Crispinus shot an astonished look at Kate, but she was glowering stubbornly at one of the wall torches and refused to meet his gaze.

Some woman had attacked her? Over him? So she wasn't some hothead after all. The happiness he felt that Kate was still his Kate was tempered with the knowledge that someone had tried to hurt her.

"Tell me what happened," Crispinus commanded.

The girl did, and with every word, Crispinus's blood grew colder. Claudia told him about how some woman named Valencia had stormed into the frigidarium, calling Kate a whore and saying how there was a rumor she was with Crispinus. When Valencia demanded that Claudia leave the room, Claudia had gone along with the other women but lingered outside to make sure nothing bad happened. When Valencia accused Kate of stealing Crispinus from her and shoved Kate under the water, Claudia immediately went to get her father.

"I couldn't help Katelyn myself, you see," the girl told him apologetically, gesturing at her crippled leg. "Valencia would have beaten me easily. By the time I had returned with Father, Katelyn and Valencia were gone."

"Gone where?"

"The apodyterium," Aemilia supplied. "I was in there folding clothes when they ran in. Katelyn grabbed a dagger and threatened to stab Valencia with it."

"What happened then?"

"I came and separated them," Claudius replied. "Valencia is still locked in the other room."

Crispinus threw another glance at Kate, but she was still pointedly ignoring him. He never would have expected such a reaction from any woman, especially not from someone he couldn't even remember having met before. At least it explained Kate's anger towards him. She blamed him for the attack. As she should.

Crispinus blew out a breath of frustration. All he'd wanted was to do something nice for Kate. The bathhouse had seemed the perfect place to take her. She could clean, eat, relax. Instead, this happened.

"I want to see this Valencia," he told Claudius.

"Of course. This way."

The man led him out. Crispinus looked back to see Claudia shuffle over towards Kate. When the girl reached out to hug her, Kate didn't pull away. She wrapped her arms around the child, making shushing noises when Claudia started to cry. Crispinus noted the way Kate's hands trembled against the girl's back. Kate needed to be soothed just as much as the child, but she was refusing to show it. Because of him. Because Crispinus was the only one close enough to her that she could turn to right now and she hated him.

Damn it all to Hades!

Crispinus increased his strides so that Claudius had to jog in order to keep ahead and lead him. When they reached the door containing Valencia, the man put a restraining hand on his arm. It was a bold move considering who Crispinus was and how high his temper currently ran.

"I know you are angry," Claudius told him quietly. "But I urge you to resist harming her if you can. Valencia comes from a powerful family and no doubt her death would bring about more complications then you want to deal with."

"Unlock the door."

Claudius sighed, muttered something unflattering about gladiators and their stubbornness, but did as he was told. Crispinus went inside and slammed the door shut behind him.

The woman was seated on a stone bench to his left but jumped to her feet at his entrance. She was beautiful to be sure, but it was a cold beauty, with dark blue eyes far too calculating for Crispinus's taste. A smart woman he liked. A manipulative one he did not.

"Forgive me," were the first words out of her pretty little mouth. Not surprising. What was surprising was when she added, "next time I won't let her get away."

Crispinus stopped a few feet back, close enough for his presence to intrude on her personal space but far enough away that he could successfully evade or initiate an attack. He wasn't too worried about the former, but he was more than tempted by the latter. This was the woman who had almost ruined his trust in Kate, who might still have managed to ruin Kate's affections for him.

"I suggest you explain yourself, woman."

"I was trying to impress you, Crispinus," she said imploringly. "I was trying to show you how strong I was, how dedicated I would be to you. I knew that if I could kill her, you would realize that she wasn't the one for you. That I was. I can match you step for step, Crispinus. Me. Not her."

"I don't even remember you." After what Valencia had done to Kate, he didn't even feel guilty for the flicker of hurt in her eyes.

"We met three years ago. I came and saw you after the games. You were so… passionate."

So she was one of them. Crispinus had guessed as much after hearing Claudia's story, but he still couldn't recall meeting her. He'd taken a lot of women. Most of them had been brief interludes and none of them had been emotional.

He looked at the cool blonde in front of him. If Valencia had found his aloof attitude and careless use of her body to get his release as passionate, then her mind was in a twisted state indeed. Not that he'd ever left a woman wanting—not even Crispinus was that cruel—but he'd never felt compelled to arouse them past the point of that first basic orgasm. And why should he, when all of the women he saw were like the one he was facing down now?

"So you attempted to seduce me with your cruelty?" he asked her.

"Not cruelty—fierceness. Like you have in the arena."

"You would compare your attempt at murdering an innocent, unarmed woman to me fighting for my life against other trained warriors? Are you mad?"

To his shock, Valencia rolled her eyes. "I was doing you a favor. You can't tell me you honestly plan to bind yourself in marriage to that foreign whore. You can do so much better."

"Like with you?"

"Yes, exactly. With me." She beamed and gave her eyelashes a playful flutter. Crispinus couldn't believe her nerve.

"I don't remember you begging to marry me when we met before."

Valencia made a rude scoffing noise. "Please. You were a gladiator then."

"And what is the difference now?"

"Now you are a free man. And a highly desirable one at that." She reached out to stroke his arm but Crispinus stepped back with a growl. The last thing he wanted was to have her poisonous scent stuck to his skin.

"I'm afraid I don't see how it makes much of a difference. I am still a plebian, Valencia. The second son of a poor farmer. My social status has not exactly risen by leaps and bounds."

Valencia waved a dismissive hand. "That doesn't matter. Once you marry me, your status becomes mine."

"Then I again wonder why this offer was not extended three years ago."

"Even I would not dare wed a slave," she snapped, irritation at his insistence sparking her anger. "I have my pride, after all."

Abruptly, from out of the deepest reaches of his memory a sweet, piercing voice rose, unbidden. "You are a fool if you thought that I would ever lower myself to be with someone like you, gladiator."

The words were so similar Crispinus felt a shiver run down his spine. He could still feel the shame he'd felt that day, hear the sound of his heart breaking there in the middle of the street. Most people compared such a sound to that of a shattering vase or tearing fabric, but to Crispinus it had sounded like laughter, both musical and mocking.

"You love me? Ha! What good is the love of a slave to me?"

She had been beautiful. Her hair pure black and with skin white as ivory. She'd come to him after his first big win in the arena, his first experience with both fame and woman, and he had fallen willingly—eagerly even. Her compliments had been plentiful, her kisses even more so, and he'd had no reason not to believe he was looking at true love.

As he became more and more famous, other women started coming to him, but he had rebuffed all their advances, all their pleas. There was only one he cared about, only one he waited for after every battle. And she came each time, eyes sparkling with lust, and satisfaction that he was hers—as she was his.

Or so he thought, until, one day, he ran into her outside of the Colosseum. The look she had given him when he had approached her… She'd looked at him as if he were trash, and indeed, had proceeded to cut him down in front of everyone for daring to speak to her with such familiarity. When, in utter confusion, he had brought up all the times they had shared together, she denied the claims, rejected his love, and in the process taught him what he'd considered to be one of the most valuable lessons a man could ever learn: never trust a woman. Use them as they used you, and then get away before they could wreak their havoc. It was a sound rule that had served him well.

Until Kate.

Crispinus struggled to fight off the onslaught of memory. This wasn't about him; it was about Kate and keeping her safe from his past mistakes.

"Oh, Crispinus." Sensing his distress like a predator might a cornered prey's, Valencia reached out again to touch him and this time he was too distracted to stop her. She raked her nails lightly over his bicep, making the muscle twitch and contract.

"You've had a hard life, haven't you, love? It's okay now, though. We will get rid of that other woman and then we can be together. We will make a formidable couple, you and I."

Formidable? Yes, that was true. With Valencia, he might actually gain an honorable station. And for the first time in his life, he would be respected. Feared even. And not just for his fighting skills, but for his diplomatic ones as well.

But it would mean cutting all ties to his family, even his brother. It would mean never trusting anyone again, not even his wife. It would mean giving up any hope of peace.

It would mean losing Kate.

"No." He growled the word. Valencia pulled back her hand as if afraid he might snap at her. It wasn't a half bad idea. Unpleasant chills ran up and down his skin where she'd touched him. He felt like he'd been infected. He wanted another bath. He wanted to be away from this woman. He wanted Kate.

"Listen to me now," Crispinus told her, his voice tight in an effort to keep it even. "I don't give a damn for you or your offers. The only reason you are still alive at all is because you are a woman, and gladiator or no I will not kill a woman. But should you ever try to harm my Katelyn again, I will personally see to it that that pretty face of yours is no longer capable of luring any man to your bed, no matter how many loving words you whisper."

Fear snaked across Valencia's face for the first time. She opened her mouth to speak, but took a step back instead. Good. If she feared him enough she might actually listen.

"You would choose her over me?" Valencia whispered.

"Not would. Have."

Crispinus watched as Valencia's face reddened, a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

"You ungrateful bastard," she hissed. "You dare to turn me down? Me? Do you know how many men would consider themselves blessed to marry someone of my standing? I will kill you for this. See if I don't."

"I look forward to your attempt. Pray you have more success than you did today."

Valencia's anger was such that she couldn't even work up a response to that until after he left the room. He heard her through the door, shrieking and cursing and throwing things around like a great wind of feminine rage.

Claudius was still there in the hallway when Crispinus stepped out. He lifted an eyebrow at all the noise. "It went well then?"

Crispinus quirked his lips, but said nothing.

Claudius sighed and shook his head. "You will regret that," he told him gravely.

The only thing Crispinus regretted was taking the woman in the first place. And to think there could be more out there like her. A lot more.

Suddenly his years of sexual venting seemed the most foolish thing in the world. His relationship with Kate was fragile enough. Any more run-in's like that and he could kiss his chance with her goodbye. As it was, he wasn't sure how to make up for this one.

"I don't suppose you have any tips on how to apologize to a woman?" Crispinus asked the bath owner as they made their way back to the library.

"I find that simply making a sincere apology works most of the time for me," Claudius said.

Which was a good idea, but useless to him. Kate wouldn't know what he was saying if he just blurted out, "I'm sorry." Besides, in this case I'm sorry just didn't seem enough.

They got back to the library and Crispinus retrieved Kate from a still-sniffling Claudia. Kate seemed a bit steadier, but the look she gave Crispinus said she was still angry with him. He hadn't expected her to suddenly forgive him after only five minutes of absence, but it was still disappointing.

They made their goodbyes to the owners and took their leave. Crispinus tried to take Kate's hand as they walked down the street, but she jerked her arm away so hard she elbowed herself in the side, earning him another scowl, as if her overreaction was his fault.

Crispinus didn't attempt to touch her again.

He debated briefly about trying to teach her some more Latin, just to get her mind off things, but given her current mood and how she'd responded earlier, he dismissed the idea. Instead, he went back to thinking about how he could make it up to her. A verbal apology wouldn't work, which meant it would have to be some sort of gesture.

He knew what kind of gesture he would like to make. And it included a lot of thrusting and a naked Kate spread beneath him. Fortunately, he wasn't dumb enough to think that would actually work, since right now Kate wouldn't even let him hold her hand.

Crispinus cursed and ran a hand through his hair. It felt as if all the headway he had made over the past two days had been lost and already he was desperate to have it back. But what could he do? What kind of gesture could he make that was both innocent and meaningful?

Something tickled his palm. Crispinus raised his hand to see a loose strand of hair that had gotten caught around his finger. Crispinus pulled it off—and stilled. He slid a glance at Kate's rat nest of hair.

He smiled. He had his gesture.

Kate sat on the end of the bed, facing the curtained doorway, legs crossed with her chin in her hands, exactly where Crispin had put her before leaving what she was beginning to associate as their bedroom. She would have moved just to spite him—she wasn't in much of a mood to listen to him right now—but there wasn't anywhere else to sit besides the wobbly stool in the corner, and she wasn't feeling spiteful enough to make herself uncomfortable, so she stayed where she was.

Upset as she'd been these past couple days, that was nothing compared to how bad she felt now. A woman had tried to drown her. Over Crispin. She'd been involved in what basically equated to an ancient Roman catfight over a gladiator. And though she'd been too worried about dying to feel the shame of it then, boy, was shame rearing its ugly head now. Her face burned with humiliation as she recalled how she had run through the bathhouse, butt-naked and dripping wet for all to see, chased by a man's murderous ex-lover.

And that's what she was. Kate might not be able to demand answers given the current language barrier, but she still knew. Sometime, somewhere, Crispin had slept with that woman. Back at the bathhouse, Kate's first thought was that Crispin had scorned her in some way, and that the woman was taking out her revenge by going after Kate. But now Kate had to wonder if maybe it was the other way around. Maybe the woman didn't hate Crispin at all. Maybe her relationship with Crispin had been serious enough that she still felt possessive about him and wanted Kate out of the way for another go.

Honestly, Kate wasn't sure which was worse.

Crispin returned then. Kate's gaze zeroed in on something small and round clutched in his hand. He saw where she was looking and hid the object behind his back before she could figure out what it was.

"I'm not in the mood for games," she told him, even knowing saying as much was pointless.

Looking nervous but determined, Crispin crossed the room and slid onto the bed behind her, stretching out his legs so that she was cradled between his thighs. Kate stiffened at the sudden intimacy. They were both fully dressed, her anger was practically palpable, she didn't think he was trying to make a move on her. So what was the deal?

Something rough and bristly made a pass through her tangled mass of hair.

Then again.

And again.

And again.

"Are you… brushing my hair?" Kate asked, incredulous. She tried to turn around and see but Crispin's hands shot out and grabbed her by the head, stilling her turn and forcing her to face straight.

"Non permoveo," he ordered.

Well it didn't take a genius to figure out that that meant "sit still."

Kate shook off his grip but resettled without argument. Really, she was too shocked to do anything but comply. She'd never come across this kind of reaction before. Why on earth would he want to brush her hair? Of all the things she'd expected him to do, this had not been it. It was her experience when dealing with men that when she got mad, they got mad, whether or not they had a right to be so. They'd mutter, yell, or sometimes just take off altogether. A few would even make mean digs about her appearance and go around slamming things, "just because."

Crispin resumed his brushing. He went slow, taking care with every knot. Kate was touched despite herself, her anger slipping away with every knot he untangled, though she fought to keep it.

Anger was safe. Anger kept her from wanting anything more from him. More touches, more kisses, more everything. What he was doing now, it was like scalpel to her willpower, cutting it open so cleanly it was impossible to make out the seam of the wound until it started to bleed.

But she couldn't give in. She couldn't. Because if she gave in she would be opening more than just her body to him, she would also be opening her heart. Crispin wasn't the sort of man you could separate love and lust from. She knew it intrinsically. And she couldn't afford to get attached to him. There were too many unknowns, too many obstacles that couldn't be overcome. The biggest of which was that she needed to get home, and he needed to stay here. There was no changing that. Even if he didn't leave her, she would have to leave him.

But the way he touched her, with such care and reverence…

"Why are you doing this to me?" she moaned, horrified by the pleading note in her voice but unable to make it go away. "Every time I think I've got a good enough reason to stay away from you, you go and do something wonderful and selfless like buy me clothes, or try and teach me Latin, or brush my hair. It would almost be easier if you were mean and left me. At least then, I wouldn't be so damn tempted. It's not fair, Crispin! Not for either of us."

Crispin's hand stilled. Kate thought maybe he would have mercy on her poor emotions and stop. But then she felt the warm press of lips against the top of her head, and heard him whisper in a voice so soft as to be nearly silent, "Mea culpa, Katelyn."

Well, that's it, Kate thought bitterly. Game over; forgiveness granted. She knew what mea culpa meant. That was a common enough phrase that Kate had heard it before in her linguistics class, though Crispin wouldn't know that. Mea culpa meant both "my fault" and "I'm sorry." He was not only taking responsibility for what had happened today, he was apologizing for it.

That's why he's doing this, she realized, stunned. He's trying to make amends by fixing my hair.

With a surge of panic, she fought to sew up the seams of her willpower, but it was too late. She had already bled out.

Unaware of her trembling emotions—or maybe aware but uncomfortable by them—Crispin straightened and returned to his brushing. Kate didn't say anything more. Neither did he.

When all the knots were out and her dark locks had been brushed to a silky-dry shine, Crispin put aside his brush and began using his hands instead. Kate had expected him to just stop, so the sudden invasion of his fingers through her hair made her jerk in surprise. But it was not an unwelcome feeling, and when Crispin hesitated as if he would retreat, Kate leaned her head back to let him know she wanted him to keep going. A stupid decision on her part perhaps, but right then she hadn't the strength to do otherwise.

Crispin murmured something and continued his ministrations. Kate relaxed into him with a contented sigh, even as common sense screamed at her to pull back while she still had a chance. She was starting to doubt she'd ever had one. She loved the feel of his chest against her back, and as exhaustion started to overtake her, Kate let herself indulge, for the first time, in thoughts of what it would feel like to always be tended to with such care. To wake every morning within such a powerful embrace… to have all that masculine power unleashed in bed.

She could have all that, if she wanted, at least temporarily. Crispin's magnificent pectorals weren't the only things currently flexing against her. He may not be openly offering himself anymore, but one hint from her and she had no doubt that would change.

But even in her semi-conscious state, she didn't forget how dumb it would be to get involved. That knowledge was the only reason she had held out this long, after all.

Three days, she thought. God, was that it? She felt like she had been denying him forever. A bad sign, for sure. If he continued acting this sweet, every good intention she had was going to melt away like sugar in rain.

If only things had been different. If only she had met him in her own time. If only she could trust he wouldn't run off and leave her. If only she could rely on him, not just for the moment, but for good. If only… If only… If… only…

Crispinus threaded his fingers through the soft dark mane of hair and smiled as Kate slipped into a light doze against him. He wasn't sure, but he thought that he'd been forgiven, at least mostly. And he found that he enjoyed brushing Kate's hair almost as much as she seemed to like having it brushed. Here he kept breaking his rule about not showing affection left and right, and Kate not only didn't despise him for it, she seemed to genuinely enjoy it.

Crispinus wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down so they were lying on the bed. Kate mumbled something and snuggled up closer. Crispinus's heart swelled at the unconscious action—along with another part of his anatomy that was already painfully enlarged. To be this close to Kate however, made the torture more than worth it.

He held her tight, wanting her to feel secure even in sleep. He was starting to wonder how he was going to be able to let her go. Not just when she woke up, but ever. If things worked out tonight, someone would recognize her and she would be taken away from him. As smart as it would be to let her go, he was starting to doubt his ability to do it. A gladiator he may be, but there were some things even a gladiator couldn't withstand.

Like a broken heart.


	9. Chapter Eight

The clang of sword against sword seemed out of place in the peaceful depths of Hardalio's _peristylium_. Thirty or so guests lounged on silk-covered couches, watching the gladiators before them with amused interest, _oohing_ and _ahhing_ appropriately with every well placed blow or successfully dodged strike.

The sun had set hours ago, but torches had been lit and they washed the courtyard and its inhabitants in a golden-red glow that meshed perfectly with the shadowy shrubs and trees that lined its outskirts. Crispinus finished off the lamprey on his plate and took another sip of his honey-sweetened wine. He'd never had such fine fare, and he savored it, since the odds of ever having it again were very slim. As it stood, he was unquestionably the lowest class person at the party next to the slaves—Kate's unknown status aside—and he'd caught several looks of curiosity and disgust from the other guests at his arrival.

It bothered him no more than it usually did, which was a deceitful way of saying that it bothered him very much. Add to it his general dislike of rubbing elbows with the Roman elite, and he had to conclude that the food was the only redeeming quality about the evening. It certainly wasn't the mock fight currently taking place in front of him. It was a good fight as far as skill went, but Crispinus had spent too many years battling to the death to be entertained by anything less dangerous. Indeed, watching the terrified woman beside him was proving much more enjoyable.

Poor Kate seemed to be under the mistaken impression that the fight going on between the gladiators was a real one, and Crispinus had no way, subtle or otherwise, to correct her of the notion. She sat on her couch, leaning slightly back as if to distance herself as much as possible from the proceedings, her hands over her eyes and her fingers spread so she could peep out on the battle.

Truth be told, she made terror look adorable.

One of the gladiators struck the shield of the other hard enough to make him stumble and drop to his knees. Kate gasped and covered her eyes, obviously expecting the fatal blow to fall. It didn't. The one who fell bowed his head in defeat. His partner lowered his sword and held out a hand to help the man to his feet. The guests applauded. Crispinus watched Kate chance a peek. Her sigh of relief when she saw both men still alive made Crispinus chuckle.

Even without the make-up, fancy clothes, and elaborate hairstyles and wigs that the other women at the party were wearing, Kate still managed to shine brighter than any female there. Fresh-faced, her hair done up in a simple braid, she appeared almost elegant in her honest simplicity. And whereas the others had on masks of boredom or polite interest to guard their true feelings, Kate's expressions were always open. If something amazed her, she gaped. If it bored her, she yawned. If it surprised her, she laughed. Nothing had yet to make her angry, but he had no doubt that if it did she would react to that too. There was no posturing. His Kate was above such nonsense.

The other guests got up and started to mingle. Crispinus stood and took Kate's hand, glad that she was once again accepting his touch. When he'd woken up from their impromptu nap earlier, Kate had already been awake and sitting cross-legged on the bed next to him. She'd been watching him sleep, that much was clear, and thinking hard about something. Crispinus would have given anything at that moment to be a mind reader.

But then she'd smiled, and it had been without shadow. Probably the first _true_ smile he'd seen since meeting her, and if he'd been even a mite more confident that she would accept it, he would have explored those upturned lips to their fullest. But as it stood, he was still uneasy about the limits of their relationship, and so had held back, as much as it pained him.

He was trying to be patient, really he was, but Crispinus was eager to expand these boundaries of hers. Against his will, she'd made in impact on him, but he felt like he had yet to make one on her. Sex would do that, he knew, and he was sure that with a little bit of pressure he could make Kate give in, but he was reticent to go that far. On this, he wanted _her_ to be the one to come to _him_ , not the other way around.

Saving his yearnings for later, Crispinus led Kate over to where the two gladiators stood at the far end of the _peristylium_ , next to a tall column decorated with roses. No one had come to compliment them on their showmanship, and probably wouldn't, if he had judged the crowd right.

The gladiator who'd been knocked down spotted him and waved. "Crispinus!"

"Greetings, Scipio." The two of them had fought together back when they were first being trained in gladiator school. Scipio had gotten free years ago, but Crispinus had heard he still got hired out to entertain at parties and such. Apparently the rumors were true.

Crispinus returned the gesture and picked up his pace. Kate followed along at a trot, looking a touch uneasy. Unlike himself, who was battle-scarred but still attractive enough to be alluring, these two men where just battle-scarred. Their thick muscular bodies were more scar tissue than skin, and Evodius, the winner of the fight, had lost his left eye years ago. Crispinus had faced off with Evodius several times in the arena, and despite the tense circumstances surrounding their meetings, they had always parted ways amicably. A very rare feat, indeed.

"What the hell are you doing at a fancy party like this?" Scipio asked when they reached them. "And with a beautiful woman too. Rome's favorite gladiator works fast, I see." He grinned, revealing several missing teeth.

"Scipio, this is Kate. Kate, this is Scipio and Evodius." Crispinus pointed to each man in turn and spoke their names slowly so she would understand he was introducing them. She nodded and smiled at them both, her unease mostly disappearing with the dawning comprehension that these were friends of his.

"Scipio. Evodius." She bowed her head slightly. Crispinus wondered if Kate realized how big an honor she granted them by doing so. No one bowed to slaves. Not even former ones.

"That's quite a unique accent you've got, my lady," Evodius commented. "Where do you originally hail from?"

"We're not sure," Crispinus said, answering the question for her.

His friend raised his eyebrows. "Not sure?"

Crispinus grimaced, admitting, "She doesn't speak Latin."

"Not at all?" Scipio looked shocked. "What about her father?"

"I haven't exactly met the man yet."

The two men exchanged looks, then glanced warily around, as if they feared being overheard even at such a distance. Crispinus knew what they were both thinking. It was a crime to take a woman away from her father without permission. Indeed, even after being wed, a wife could still be forced back home or even divorced from her husband if the father became unsatisfied with the arrangement, no matter how long she'd been married. Crispinus could be castrated or even killed for abducting Kate, something he should probably be more worried about than he was. As far as he was concerned, he hadn't technically "taken" Kate from anyone. She'd been on her own. And he'd saved her life, so his actions were justified, weren't they? The gods only knew what kind of trouble she would've gotten into if he'd left her to fend for herself.

"Perhaps you better explain," said Evodius.

Crispinus gave them a summary of what had happened, glossing over the more intimate details. It felt good to be able to talk about his plight with someone. Kate stood by his side. She looked a little bored but didn't complain. She had no idea they were discussing her. It made Crispinus feel a little guilty.

"So, you just found her in your room?" Evodius asked when he finished.

"Yes."

"And the door was locked, you said?"

"Yes."

"Then how did she get in?"

Crispinus shrugged. He hadn't really thought about it. Too much else had been going on at the time. "I assume one of the guards let her in and locked up afterwards."

"But then why did it take so long for them to come back when she started screaming?" his friend asked. "They should have been right there."

Crispinus didn't have an answer for that.

" _By Hercules_ ," Scipio murmured with undisguised awe. "She's like a gift from the gods."

The hushed words made a shiver ripple down Crispinus's spine. The man had always been reverent when it came to the gods, more so than Crispinus would ever be. Signs, omens, fate, Scipio lived his life around such ambiguous things. He would swear until his last breath that the week he was freed, he'd had a dream that Athena had come to him and said, "Rest now, gladiator. You are done."

Crispinus didn't mind the man's personal beliefs, but he didn't like the idea of Scipio thinking of Kate as some sort of god-given gift. He was a good man as far as gladiators went, but he could obsess over things sometimes, and the last thing Crispinus wanted was him obsessing over Kate.

"If she was a gift she wouldn't be looking for somebody else," Crispinus pointed out, trying to keep his bitterness hidden. "Nor would she have run away from me."

"Yes, that is a bit strange," Scipio agreed, but he was still looking at Kate with wonder. She noticed his expression and shifted a little closer to Crispinus. He doubted she even realized she'd done it. That she instinctively turned to him for protection made his chest puff with pride.

"So, what are you planning on doing with her?" Evodius asked.

_I'm keeping her,_ was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. "Help her find her family, of course. That's actually why we came here tonight. I thought someone might recognize her."

"I don't think her family runs in any of these circles," Scipio said. Crispinus glared, and was about to chew the man out for insinuating that Kate was a plebian when his friend went on, "She's too nice to belong to any of these alligators." He gave Kate a smile that with all his teeth might have looked charming, but only succeeded in making her inch even farther away from him.

A thin man with tanned skin and wearing a simple dark brown _tunica_ appeared next to him. "Crispinus Agallon?"

"Yes?"

"His lordship Hardalio would like to speak with you. If you would follow me, please?" Without waiting for answer, the slave turned and headed back toward the house.

"Go ahead, Crispinus. We'll watch over Kate for you," Scipio promised. Crispinus looked at Evodius, silently telling him to watch over not only Kate, but Scipio too. Evodius nodded ever so slightly.

"I'll be right back, Kate," Crispinus told her, and because he couldn't stand it, he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before leaving to catch up with his guide. Hopefully that was enough to reassure Kate _and_ to keep Scipio in line while he was gone. Otherwise, Tartarus was going to look like a trip to the _calidarium_ next to what Crispinus would do to the man.

* * *

Cato would have killed to be in such a room. That was Crispinus's first thought upon entering the atrium two hours ago when he and Kate had first arrived, and standing in the entry room once again, it came back to him now. Nearly every inch of the marble floor was decorated with abstract mosaics and the walls were painted with pictures detailing the history of the family. The room reeked of wealth and aristocracy. The gladiator master would have basked in such extravagance, but to Crispinus the place still somehow felt stifling to him, as if the spacious room wasn't really spacious at all, but filled to bursting with expectations and, contradicting though it was, condescension.

Above him, the ceiling opened up to the midnight sky, giving him an unobstructed view of the stars. The sight caught him so off guard he almost stumbled right into the _impluvium_. Fortunately, the shallow pool in the floor was dry thanks to the lack of rainfall, so even if he had made such a _faux pas_ at least there would have been no evidence to the fact.

"Insignificant."

The voice was quiet but deep, punctuated by the sound of firm footsteps approaching Crispinus from the doorway to his right. Hardalio stepped into the room, wine cup in hand. Like most of the other people there that night, he wore a formal _synthesis_. However, he was the only one wearing the royal color purple. Such a shade of robe should have looked ostentatious, but Hardalio had such a no-nonsense military bearing that the color choice seemed only appropriate.

Crispinus had no such robe. Even though all Romans were entitled to wear them when the occasion permitted, he'd never been anywhere that required such formal attire. Instead, he'd made do with his last clean _tunica_. It was a pale yellow and he looked quite good in it, if Kate's constant glances at him all evening were any indication.

"What did you say, my lord?" Crispinus asked.

Hardalio gestured to the absent roof. "The stars. They can make a man feel very insignificant, can't they?"

Crispinus tried to smother a perplexed frown and failed. "I suppose so."

"As immortal as the gods, stars are. Men die with every setting of the sun and yet those night diamonds shine on without the slightest sign of fading. A man could almost forget his mortality if it weren't for stars to remind us, don't you think?"

What Crispinus thought was that if Hardalio had drunk as much wine as it seemed he had, he wasn't going to be conscious long enough to see off his guests at the end of the night.

"You are lucky indeed if a bunch of white spots are your only reminders, my lord," Crispinus said lightly. "As a gladiator I was reminded every day. Reminded about death _by_ death. The death of my enemies, the death of my friends, my own imminent demise every time a man came at me with a blade."

"Spoken like a true warrior." Hardalio raised his cup in a silent toast then drained it. His hands were not the least bit shaky. "So you must realize the truth then. The only part of a man that can escape death is his name."

"My lord?"

"I am a consul, Agallon. And you are once again a free man with a talent for fighting even the gods would envy. The Roman military could use a great warrior like you. You could make quite a name for yourself within the ranks. And a lasting name at that."

"With all due respect, my lord, I have already built up a name in the arena. Creating another on the battlefield seems a little redundant."

"Not at all," Hardalio argued. "You have a name of some repute, yes, but think how much greater it would be if you could claim victory in war, instead of just inside a coliseum."

Crispinus realized then what was going on. The man wasn't drunk; he was trying to lure him into accepting a proposition.

"Are you offering me a place in your army, my lord?"

"That I am, Agallon."

Crispinus wondered if it was fate that he would be propositioned twice in one day, first by Valencia for marriage and now by Hardalio for a job in the military. Was it an omen? A test? Scipio certainly would have thought so. But his old friend wasn't here to help him figure it out and Crispinus didn't have the time to try and deduce the meaning of it all on his own.

He saw that the consul was waiting for an answer, his eyes bright but clear. Definitely sober. Crispinus decided he would just have to take the offer at face value like he'd taken Valencia's, and go with his instincts, instead of trying to guess the plan of the Fates; a vain endeavor if there ever was one.

Crispinus gave the consul a low bow. "With all due respect, I'm going to have to decline, my lord."

The man eyed him shrewdly. "It's that woman, isn't it?"

Crispinus was surprised that Hardalio had even noticed Kate. But then, maybe that was shortsightedness on his end. "It is not, my lord."

The man snorted. "I am not a fool, Agallon. I have seen the way you look at her. Wrapped around her finger you are." He waved his empty cup in frustration. "Women, so troublesome. Forever trying to direct us. I would knock some sense into you if I could, but then, I was also a fool when it came to my wife. Led me around like a gelding she did, until she died in childbirth with Lucan."

Crispinus wanted to tell the man that Kate led him nowhere, at least not intentionally. Granted, not being able to speak Latin would hinder such pursuits a bit, but if bending him to her will had really been her objective, Crispinus had no doubt that she could've managed it. Because Hardalio was right about one thing: He really was hopeless when it came to Kate.

"I assure you, my decision has nothing to do with her, my lord." And it didn't, not in this case. It didn't have to. Crispinus would be good in the military, he knew that. And it would give him direction, a new purpose. But fighting wasn't what he wanted to do anymore. He wasn't yet thirty and already there were mornings when his muscles ached and his bones popped as if he were forty. He had nightmares of the times when he'd almost been killed, and even more often of the times _he_ had killed. Crispinus had left the arena because he'd known it was time to stop fighting. If he went to war the fighting would never end. He would die, tired and alone, on the battlefield of some distant country. His name might live on, but he wouldn't, and as unhappy as he might sometimes be about his life and his place in it, he was selfish enough not to want to end things quicker than he had to.

"I've started down a bloodless road," Crispinus told the consul. "I don't particularly wish to turn back now."

"Well, my offer still stands," Hardalio told him. "If ever you lose that beauty you brought with you tonight, I know personally that a little bloodshed can take the edge off the pain."

Considering how much his heart ached at just the thought of losing Kate, Crispinus had his doubts about that. But he bowed respectfully anyway and left.

* * *

Kate giggled as Scipio told the punch line of yet another joke to Evodius. She didn't get it of course, but Evodius's laughter was surprisingly contagious, a deep baritone that seemed one decibel away from shaking the very earth, and she couldn't help joining in. This joke had been particularly dirty, if Scipio's belated, sheepish glance at her was any indication. Apparently in ancient Rome, such jokes were rude to tell in the presence of a woman—but then he shrugged as if it didn't matter. And it didn't. Even if she found a little crudeness offensive, it wasn't like she understood it anyway. It was like cursing in front of an infant, as distastefully accurate as the metaphor was.

She'd been nervous when Crispin had left her at first. But she quickly learned that these two gladiators were quite charming beneath their ferocious looking exteriors, much like Crispin himself. Evodius was the quieter, more mature of the two. He had gone and gotten her more wine when he'd noticed that her cup was empty, and had bowed low to her both before leaving and after he had returned.

Scipio on the other hand, was loud, rambunctious, and reminded her more of an energetic teen than a man who fought for entertainment. A couple of times inbetween jokes she'd caught him looking at her oddly, a bit too intently. But it was innocent enough, she supposed, and after Crispin's not-so-subtle peck on the forehead, she doubted Scipio would dare try anything. Crispin couldn't have marked her any more clearly had he peed on her leg. His message was as obvious as it was threatening: _mine_.

She should have found such caveman posturing insulting, but instead she found it reassuring. What man claimed a woman like that only to leave her? And she was starting to like the idea of belonging to someone—belonging to Crispin anyway. He was racking up quite the little list of commendable qualities: Bravery, strength, good looks, patience. He admitted when he was wrong, comforted her when she was sad, and overall treated her with a level of respect more due to a princess than hotel critic from California. What wasn't to love about all that?

The only downside was this place. She was all for an adventure, but at the end of the day she wanted to be able to return to modern civilization. She didn't know the rules here, didn't even know the language so someone could begin to _explain_ the rules. And as much as she was coming to care about Crispin, she still didn't feel all that comfortable having to rely on him for everything. It was just too reminiscent of what her mother had gone through. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, the rug to be pulled out from under her, the taxi with her no-good father to drive away.

Scipio was pretending to have been stabbed through the gut with a sword. He grabbed at his stomach as if trying to hold in his innards, giving a dramatic death cry and collapsing with a twitch and a wheeze. Evodius clapped, cheering, " _Beate!_ _Beate!_ " Kate started clapping too, but then stopped as she caught sight of one of the few other female guests at the party.

It was that woman from the bathhouse, the one that had tried to drown her. It was strange seeing her with clothes on after having met and fought with her in the nude, an experience Kate still couldn't believe had actually happened. Not that she was one to question odd encounters. This whole back-in-time thing still seemed pretty nuts to her. The woman was watching Scipio's antics with revulsion. Apparently only handsome gladiators were good enough for her.

_Ah, but she doesn't have_ him _anymore, does she_? said a smug little voice in Kate's head. No, whatever had been going on between Crispin and this woman was over with. Otherwise, Kate would have found herself abandoned at the bathhouse that afternoon instead of being treated to a penitent hair brushing.

Kate's gaze met the woman's, and instead of feeling embarrassment over what had transpired between them, she felt an acute sense of victory.

_That's right,_ she thought, _the gladiator's with_ me _now._ And because Kate just couldn't help herself, she gave the woman the finger. Kate doubted the gesture was in use yet, but the meaning was clear. The woman's eyes flashed but she made no move to come closer.

From his place on the ground, Scipio also caught the gesture. He slid a surprised look from Kate to the woman. He obviously got the point too because he burst out laughing and said something to Evodius, who took in the scene and chuckled.

Apparently some things weren't just universal, they were timeless.

* * *

Crispinus was so intent on getting back to Kate that it took a minute to realize someone had called to him, and yet anther minute to place the man hurrying over.

"Agallon!"

Crispinus turned, and scowled. " _You!_ "

The guard from the Colosseum looked as immaculate as ever, dressed in a dark green _synthesis_ with a sword at his hip. He had a plate in his hand stacked with food—enjoying his night off, apparently.

His face was pale though, as if he'd just had a conversation with a long dead ancestor and was still getting over the shock of it. Only it wasn't a deceased family member that had shocked him; it was Crispinus. As was evident by his following words.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Excuse me?"

"You need to leave. Now."

Crispinus drew himself up to his full height. "I have every right to be here, or haven't you heard?"

Aleron waved aside his anger impatiently. "That's not what I mean. You need to go home. Cato sent half a dozen gladiators to you brother's farm to collect you."

Ice coalesced around Crispinus's heart. "Why?"

"For stealing the necklace from that woman."

"I've stolen _nothing_." He growled the words, sounding more like an angry wolf than a man. A few of the surrounding guests shot wary looks in his direction and moved away.

The guard raised his eyebrows in blatant disbelief. "No?"

" _No_. And how did he find out about who I got the necklace from anyway?"

The man's brief glance downward said it all.

" _Ah_. I see," said Crispinus coolly. "Tell me, how much money did you get for selling me out?"

"You can't sell out a _slave_ ," Aleron snapped, his face reddening.

"I am a slave no longer!"

"We'll see about that. If Cato's plan succeeds, he'll have you arrested and sold back into his ownership by the end of the week."

"Hades will see my corpse _burned_ first."

"I wouldn't rule out that option _yet_ , gladiator."

Crispinus started for him, pulling his sword free from its sheath. The guard danced backwards, staying just out of reach while making sure not a single grape fell off his plate. The rest of the guests hurried to give them room. No one wanted to be caught in the middle of a fight with a gladiator.

" _Ah-ah-ah_ ," warned Aleron. "Don't impale the messenger."

Crispinus cursed but forced himself to stop. He couldn't just murder someone in the middle of the consul's party, no matter how much the man might deserve it.

He lowered his weapon and took several slow, deep breaths. He needed to stay calm and think.

"For what it's worth, I feel badly for it," Aleron said, sounding almost repentant.

Crispinus put away his sword. "Not badly enough to go kill Cato for me, I'm sure."

The guard snorted. "I'm regretful, not suicidal. As liberating as such a murder would undoubtedly be, I have my own interests to maintain—like staying alive. Something I'm having enough trouble with already." He scowled at his food. "Besides, Cato left right after the gladiators did, and I have no idea where he went. Probably to scrounge up some dirty officials to convict you."

"When did he send out these gladiators?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

"What were their orders?"

"You were to be brought back alive. Any who stood in their way were to be taken also."

"Murder?"

"Was to be avoided at all costs."

Hearing that relieved Crispinus immensely. Still, he would only rest easy after he'd seen that his family was unharmed with his own eyes. Once their safety was confirmed, he would go after Cato.

Crispinus turned away, his mind already whirling with ideas and plans. He and Kate would leave first thing tomorrow morning. Probably they should head back to the inn now, so as to get as much sleep as they could before heading out.

It took all of five seconds for him to realize what was wrong with that plan. He couldn't take Kate. If she had any hope of finding her family—or whoever it was she had lost—her best chance was to stay and search in the city. She couldn't leave, but neither could he stay with her. His family needed him.

But then what about Kate?

The guard forgotten, Crispinus took off through the crowd, more desperate then ever to find her. He barely heard the _"You're welcome!"_ Aleron shouted at his back.

Scipio would be more than happy to take Kate off his hands for him. But the idea of leaving her in the care of another man, another man with a great deal of interest in her, went against every male instinct that he had. Kate was _his_. _He_ had found her, cared for her...

Left her.

He could actually feel the madness building in his mind at such a thought. To leave Kate… It felt physically impossible. Plus, how was he supposed to explain to her that he had to go? How could he make her understand that his family was in danger? He couldn't. No more than he could make her understand that he would come back for her when it was all over. She would think he'd abandoned her, like a puppy who watches his master leave home for the day, not knowing when or if he'll ever return.

Crispinus growled in frustration, scattering the more timid of Hardalio's guests. He vowed then that if this scheme of Cato's ruined his chances with Kate, then the gladiator master was going to learn the true meaning of torture.


	10. Chapter Nine

It was an impulse that made Kate kiss him. Spurred on, she swore, by too much wine.

Kate was reveling in her victory against the woman she had officially dubbed The Bathhouse Bitch, and when Crispinus suddenly appeared beside her, she wasn't able to resist landing one last parting shot.

Wouldn't it piss her off, Kate thought, to witness her gladiator being kissed by another woman?

Thinking of nothing beyond that, she proceeded to wrap her arms around Crispin's neck and drag him down for the best kiss she had the skill to give.

As soon as her lips touched his though, Kate realized that the joke was on her. She forgot all about making his previous lover jealous. Forgot that Evodius and Scipio were standing not ten feet away, watching. That she hadn't wanted to get physical with Crispin, and that they were at a royal party, and making out in the middle of the garden had to be offensive at the very least. All she could think about, all she could focus on, was Crispin. The feel of his body snug against her own, the hot press of his mouth on hers—and his groan, so deep and powerful she could feel the vibration of it on her tongue.

From what seemed like a great distance away, she heard someone chuckling and another voice give a loud whoop.

Evodius and Scipio.

Kate fully intended to ignore them, but Crispin jerked away from her so hard she stumbled.

She caught herself and stood there, trying to blink away the confusion of suddenly being cut off from such wonderful bliss. Crispin was standing just out of reach, breathing hard, his eyes dark and his expression unreadable.

Kate flushed at the abrupt rejection even as she acknowledged that she deserved it. She'd been so caught up in rubbing her victory into that woman's face she hadn't spared a thought for how Crispin might react to such impetuousness. Although, she could admit that she'd never expected this kind of reaction, not after the way he'd been acting around her the past few days. As if one word from her would have him stripped and ready.

Then again, she thought as he continued to stand there and stare at her, she had rejected him twice. Perhaps he'd gotten tired of her timidity and it was only her attraction to him that made her think he still wanted her.

Kate frowned. Could she really have been so wrong?

Crispin reached out. Without a word, he grabbed her by the hand, tugging her through the crowd at a pace just shy of a jog.

A flower of panic bloomed inside her chest. Would he leave her now? Dump her back out onto the street? It would figure that the one thing that would exceed his patience would be the very thing Kate had been so determined never to do.

She looked back over her shoulder at Scipio and Evodius, finding zero help there. Evodius seemed to be struggling not to laugh and Scipio grinned and gave her a thumbs up. It was such a modern gesture that its meaning failed to penetrate her fearful mind. Was he trying to reassure her? Or did a thumbs up mean something entirely different in ancient Rome?

They reached the edge of the garden and Crispin pulled her around a particularly wide column, blocking their view of the guests—and the guests' view of them. Oh God, was he going to yell at her? Beat her? Hitting a woman went against everything she'd come to understand about how Crispin operated, but why else would he need such privacy?

A vision of how easily he killed those men two nights ago flashed through her mind. If that's what he planned to do then she didn't have a chance. Evodius and Scipio had obviously decided not to get involved, and hidden as she and Crispin were, even if any of the other guests were inclined to help—something she very much doubted—they'd have no idea she was in need of their aid until after whatever he did to her was over, and she crawled back into their line of sight.

If she was capable of crawling.

Crispin let go of her hand and swung her around, pushing her none-too-gently against the side of the building. It would've hurt if he hadn't wrapped his arms around her at the last second, one cushioning her head, the other her back.

It was the consideration that gave her pause. Surely, he would've just let her hit the wall unprotected if he planned to hurt her?

"Kate."

Crispin's voice was husky and made her nerve endings shake to life like a thousand tiny tremors erupting all over her body. That was not the voice of an angry man.

She looked up at him. The expressionless mask was gone, replaced with a look of hunger so stark and ravenous that her previous ardor was jump-started back to life. She had about a second to bask in the joyful realization that he hadn't been rejecting her, that he'd just wanted to find a more appropriate spot to continue, before his mouth descended over hers and she was swept away just was quickly, just as passionately as she'd been before.

"Crispin…"

Kate had never felt so on fire for a man before. Sure, she'd had her share of hot encounters, but this needy ache, it went so far beyond the physical that it terrified her. If she'd had the strength she would have run away so as to avoid having to identify it, but she didn't. And the fact was—she cared about Crispin. Deeply. More deeply than was sane considering they had only known each other three days.

Her brain berated her with guilty logic about the stupidity of her actions while her hormones cried cheerful "Hurray's!" so loud it was a wonder Crispin didn't hear them.

The gladiator groaned and dragged his mouth down to her throat, sucking and nipping with such ferocity she knew that he was going to leave a mark. Unfortunately, it felt too good to make him stop, and Kate burrowed her hands into his hair and arched up to give him better access. The movement allowed Crispin to press even closer to her, and even through three layers of clothing she could feel his erection pressing against her belly.

"Crispin," she whispered again.

Kate wasn't sure how long they stayed like that—their passions restrained only by the knowledge that they were still in a public place, and that it would be dangerous to get too carried away—before some high-pitched giggling pierced through her lust-fogged mind.

Kate cracked open her heavy-lidded eyes, fear of getting caught in such an intimate embrace draining away some of her passion. Because Crispin had her pinned to the wall, Kate had the advantage of being able to see outward. Though they were still mostly safe from prying eyes, they had shifted to the right enough that she had a decent view beyond the pillar they hid behind if she craned her neck a little.

The annoying giggling came again, this time echoed by a chorus of deep male laughter, one of which sounded suspiciously like Scipio. Kate's gaze swept the area and landed unerringly on the person who had ruined the moment.

She saw red. Literally. Golden red waves of hair like a roiling sea of fire. It was her, Kate's fake tour guide, disappearing into the crowd of guests trailing at least half a dozen male followers in her wake.

Kate wasn't aware of breaking away from Crispin, or of the outraged cries of the people she shoved past in her desperation to reach the redhead. Home. That woman was her ticket back to her own time. Her way back to her own world and to Jason and to sanity. To hot showers and good food and people she could talk to without having to gesture like the poorest kind of mime.

"Kate! Katelyn!"

If the yell had come from anyone other than Crispin, she would have ignored it. But it had come from him, and there was so much alarm in his voice that she couldn't stop herself from pausing to look back.

Crispin was barreling his way through the agitated crowd with a look of panic in his eyes. It was odd, but Kate didn't have time to analyze the why of it. As soon as he was close enough, she grabbed his hand and pulled him along, recommencing her search with her gladiator in tow.

The few precious seconds she'd wasted waiting for him, however, were already apparent. The group of men, and the redhead herself, were nowhere to be seen.

Kate cursed but kept going until she reached the other side of the flowered courtyard, then doubled back at an angle to cover the far edge where a tall stone wall outlined the property border. Nothing. No giggling, no red hair, no sign of any dazed men following along as if lured by a pied piper with breasts.

When she spotted the large tiered fountain, Kate threw all sense of propriety to the wind and scrambled up it, ignoring the spouts of water that soaked her clothes and Crispin's startled cries when she ripped her hand from his in order to climb it. She worried the fountain might not hold her weight, but it stayed steady even as she reached the smallest bowl at the top and straddled it to keep her balance.

From here, she had a perfect view of the entire yard and all the people inhabiting it. She thought there hadn't been so many—three dozen tops—but now there seemed to be a sea of people talking, eating, drinking, and enjoying the night, all of them completely unaware that Kate's future was slipping farther away from her by the second.

A particularly loud feminine curse had Kate looking northward. Through the throng of bodies, she glimpsed an angry swish of red hair and the figure of a man apologizing profusely for something. From this distance, Kate could just make out the redhead swiping angrily at the front of her robes while the man held a dripping goblet at his side.

Hope swelled in Kate's chest and she thanked God for the man's clumsiness. Recklessly, she jumped down off the fountain, anxious to reach the woman before she lost her again. It was a farther distance to the ground then Kate had anticipated, and she probably would've hurt herself if Crispin hadn't been there to catch her. But he was, and he did. Kate untangled herself from his arms as soon as she was steady, retook his hand, and took off in the direction she'd seen the redhead in.

This was it. She was going to be able to go home. Finally. No more sponge toilet paper and watery wine. No more sleeping in questionable inns and fearing for her life at every turn.

She shot a glance at Crispin. In the torchlight he looked tense, the flickering light of the flames warring against the shadows and making the elegant planes of his face all the more dramatic. He was so handsome—and kind, despite his profession. He probably thought she was mad, acting this way. How would he react, she wondered, when she made her fake tour guide send her back to her own time? Would he freak out? Call her a witch or some such thing and decide he was well rid of her? Or would he, maybe, just a little bit, miss her? She would sure as hell miss him.

She debated, as they closed in on her quarry, on taking him with her. If the woman could send Kate through time surely she could send Crispin too. Would he like the future? Would he be able to adapt? What would he do? Kate almost smiled at the thought of introducing him to Jason. Avoiding relationships, was she? Well, her brother couldn't claim that anymore if she brought a real-life gladiator forward in time with her, could he?

She was still pondering the wisdom of it when the crowd parted and she found herself standing directly behind the redhead.

Only…

Kate frowned. The man who had spilled the wine was gone, and the lady had gotten a scrap of linen from somewhere and was dabbing at her ruined outfit. But Kate noticed that the woman's hair, which had seemed wavy in the distance, was actually curly instead. And being this close up, she could see that it was the entirely wrong shade of red too, more carrot-colored than golden.

No. Please, God, no…

She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud until the woman turned with a jerk. She gave Kate a onceover, her lips curling, and she spat something that sounded like the Latin form of, "What are you looking at?"

Kate stumbled back, horrified that she could have made such a mistake, and felt the weight of Crispin's hands as he grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her.

This wasn't the same woman. Besides the hair differences, her face was too round, she was too short, and while Kate's fake tour guide had a proud air about her, this woman just looked haughty.

Oh God, what had she done? She'd found the wrong redhead!

A piercing wail started up inside her skull, drowning out the noise of the party and Crispin's concerned voice in her ear. Her surroundings blurred. She fought to contain the hysteria rising within her, but there was too much of it. This couldn't be happening to her! Fate couldn't possibly be this cruel, could it?

Oh, but it could. The life of her mother had proven that truth perfectly.

She broke away from Crispin and this time didn't stop when he called to her. She dashed back through the courtyard, dodging people and columns and trees until she was once again at the fountain. She wasted no time pulling herself up it, taking even less care than before and banging her shins against the marble tiers several times in her haste. The pain brought her back to her senses enough that she was able to focus once she reached the top—not that it mattered. There was nothing to see. Her fake tour guide was gone. On a whim she looked about for Scipio and wasn't surprised when she couldn't find him either.

Her eyes burned and she realized she was crying again. Dammit. She hadn't cried this much since her mother died. But wasn't this just death of a different sort? The death of her old life? Kate cursed fate or whoever was in charge of playing such a nasty trick. It was cruel to renew her hopes of getting home like this, to let her come so close, just to snatch the chance away from her. It was unbearable.

Eventually the wailing subsided into the sweet, bubbly gurglings of the fountain. Her tears dried on her cheeks. She started to shiver, the cool night air combined with wet clothes finally getting to her. It would just be perfect, she thought, if on top of everything she caught a cold from this.

"Kate…"

She looked down to see Crispin standing at the base of the fountain. She wondered how long he'd been there, watching her. His expression was inscrutable again. She didn't have the energy to try and guess what he might be thinking.

"I lost her," she told him. "Again. I'm afraid it might be for good this time."

He said nothing. Kate climbed off the fountain, feeling foolish for having done it now. Crispin didn't wait for her to take his hand. The second her boots touched the grass, he curled his fingers around her wrist like a shackle. Probably afraid she'd bolt again. He needn't have worried. She wasn't going anywhere.

She had nowhere to go.

They left the party shortly after that. Kate was very much aware of how tense Crispin was. Not angry per se, but definitely on edge. He wouldn't let go of her wrist and with each step his grip tightened. It started to hurt, but with the strange mood he was in she didn't dare try and pull free.

What was he so upset about? Besides shoving a few people she hadn't really caused much of a scene. Hardly anyone had noticed her on the fountain, and with a few well-placed glares from Crispin, the people who did had turned away without comment.

Was it because she'd stopped making out with him? Granted, ditching him so abruptly like that couldn't have been good for the big bad gladiator's ego, but what else could she have done? She hadn't had the time or the means to explain the situation to him. Did he think her so enamored that she would let a chance to get home pass her by just to have a few more kisses from him? Please. This wasn't Titanic. She wasn't going to risk missing the lifeboat just to have a romantic goodbye with a lost cause.

She winced. Even to her own ears, that sounded cold. Was this what Jason had been talking about? God, maybe she was bitter. But she'd been willing to take Crispin back to the future with her. That meant something… didn't it?

Pain shot up her wrist as Crispin tightened his grip even more, and Kate realized she'd been slowing her pace. She jogged to increase her stride and his hold loosened the slightest bit.

Any self-analysis she'd been conducting was swept away by irritation. This wasn't about her right now. It was about Crispin and his attitude. Issues or not, the bottom line was that Crispin had no right to expect her not to do everything she could to get home to her family.

By the time they got back to the inn, Crispin was squeezing the hell out of her wrist and Kate had wound herself up into a state of righteous anger over his mood. He didn't like how she acted at the party? Tough. He thought he could punish her by pouting like this? Fine. She had her own shit to pout about. They could throw a pouting party together, full of hurt feelings, awkward silences and self-pity. She couldn't wait.

When they reached their room, Kate headed straight for the bed, fully set on avoiding Crispin and wallowing in misery alone for the rest of the night. But instead of letting go of her wrist like she expected him to, Crispin jerked her back around to face him, forcing her to grab hold of his arms or smash face-first into his chest.

"That's it!" Kate thumped Crispin as hard as she could on the bicep with her free hand, trying not to notice how firm and unyielding the muscle was, or how he didn't even flinch. "I've had enough of this, okay, buddy? I just lost what was probably my only chance to get back to my brother, my sister-in-law, my job, my life! I'll be damned if I'm going to put up with this attitude of yours just because you're feeling a little rejected. I don't care right now if you feel bad, because I guarantee you, I feel a million times worse. So you're just going to have to deal with your issues on your own and stop taking it out on me. Got that?"

She glared up at him, the intensity on his face making her half-expect a blow. But before she could work up any real fear over it, Crispin released her wrist, cupped her face in his hands, and proceeded to kiss her senseless.

It reminded her of their moment of passion in the coliseum, only Kate knew he had no intention of stopping this time. Her heart skipped a beat at the idea of being with such a powerful gladiator, but if this was how Crispin had chosen to take his anger out on her, she'd was more than willing to take it. She had been fighting her attraction for him since day one, and after what had happened at the party, she had no more strength to resist. No woman would fault her for taking whatever comfort she could from him, would they? No. But it wasn't just comfort she would be seeking. No, sex with Crispin wouldn't—couldn't—be as simple as that. But was this night worth the risk?

Crispinus sensed Kate's sudden hesitancy and deepened the kiss, reaching up to boldly pluck at her nipple through the silk of her stolla. Kate moaned and melted against him, whatever worry that had made her pause forgotten under his sensual onslaught.

Crispinus wished he could say the same. He kept reliving the same five minutes over and over again in his mind. Kate—kissing him at the party, uncaring of all the witnesses. Kate—pinned between him and the wall, moaning as he held her. Kate—tearing herself from his arms and disappearing into the crowd. Crispinus had never feared as he had feared then. Kate had recognized someone. He'd known it immediately. And the terror it brought him had been immense.

He should have felt relieved. Her finding someone would mean he wouldn't have to worry about what to do with her. He'd have been free to go home without worrying about her safety. But he hadn't felt relieved. Deep down he hadn't expected his half-assed idea to work, and when it had, he'd been tempted to run himself through for his stupidity.

Crispinus pulled off Kate's damp palla and then her stolla—needing to see her, to feel her, to know that she was still with him and still his. He unwrapped the linen from around her ribs, and when her strange undergarments failed to come free, he pulled out a dagger and cut them off. Kate gasped at the action and looked like she might get angry over it, but he pulled her into another fiery kiss and she let it go.

He carried her to the bed and lowered her down, covering her with his still fully-clothed body. He took another passionate kiss and let his fingers slide over her warm, bare skin, running his hands down to her waist before raising them back up to cup her breasts. They were the perfect size, full enough to fill his hands without spilling over, and he kneaded them with just enough pressure to make Kate squirm beneath him.

Losing sight of Kate had blown away all his good intentions of self-preservation and left nothing but the urge to chase her down and capture her, to make her his in every way. It hadn't felt like just another woman leaving him. It'd felt like his future getting away. His plans to leave her with Scipio had burned away like the thinnest sheet of papyrus tossed down into the pits of Tartarus. All he could think about was getting her back.

Crispinus pulled away so that Kate could catch her breath and started a trail of hot open-mouthed kisses down her neck, breathing in the delicious sent of wine and woman. When he let one of his hands slide down between her legs, Kate immediately parted her thighs to allow him access. He teased her with light strokes, letting his fingers circle where she needed him the most without actually touching. Her breasts trembled temptingly before him, but he allowed himself only a brief, delicious suckle before pulling back just far enough so that he could watch Kate's face as he drove her to the brink.

Crispinus hadn't wanted their first time to be like this. He had wanted Kate to come to him. But after watching how quickly and easily she had managed to tear herself away from him tonight, he was too desperate to risk waiting any longer. If she wouldn't willingly capitulate, then he would seduce her into it.

Kate lifted her hips, seeking a stronger touch, but Crispinus pulled his hand back enough so that it was still just a soft brushing of his fingertips, making her whimper in frustration. He wanted to punish her for leaving him and at the same time make her come so hard that she would never think of leaving him for anybody else ever again. Not friends, not family, no one. He wanted her to stay. And more than that, he wanted her to want to stay.

When he'd found her in the crowd and let her lead him around the party, trying to find whoever it was she'd spotted, it had taken every last ounce of willpower Crispinus possessed not to sweep her up into his arms and charge out of the peristylium before whoever it was could come and take her away from him. The fact that she'd answered his call and held his hand had done little to alleviate his fears. She'd still left him. He was still second best to whoever she was looking for and that he couldn't stand. He needed to be number one in her eyes. Wouldn't rest until he was.

Giving in to her pleas, he slid a finger into her, pulling out briefly only to add a second. Kate cried out and arched against him. Crispinus noticed that although she was not a virgin, she was by no means an experienced woman. Her lovers had either been few in number or the majority of them had failed to breech the physical boundaries she fought so hard to maintain. It made him proud to think he had managed it, and he vowed that while he breathed, no other man ever would. By the gods, foolish or not he was keeping her, emotional distance be damned. He'd been horrible at it anyway. He wanted to love this woman, and be loved by her in return. If ever he had a perfect match it was Kate, and he was not dumb enough to throw away the chance—no matter how slim—of finding true happiness with her.

Crispinus added his mouth to the assault, using his free hand to spread her legs wider. Kate cried out and mindlessly tried to buck her hips, but he held her still as he licked and sucked at the sweetness pouring out of her. Seconds later she came with an ear-splitting shriek, her hands curled into fists in his hair. Crispinus growled but didn't stop, and soon had her flying over the edge a second time. After the third time, she began pleading in that soft, familiar language of hers, and he finally took mercy and crawled back up her body to place a gentle kiss against her lips.

Kate sighed and curled up against him, so sated she slid easily into sleep. Crispinus stayed awake, his own unfulfilled arousal so keen it was like a dull blade being repeatedly stabbed into his groin in rhythm with his pulse. It was no more than he deserved for taking her as he had, and he would bear the repercussions of it without complaint. He could have satisfied himself as well, but he wanted their first real joining to be slow and tender—just like he had imagined it back at the Colosseum.

Tonight had not been about tenderness. It had been about need, and he didn't just mean in the physical sense. As happy as he was to have Kate see him as something other than a body to bring her pleasure, he needed her to want that too. Only when she needed him for all things would he be satisfied, and he was far from satisfied at the moment.

Trying to distract himself, Crispinus thought about the woman Kate had approached at the party. He hadn't known her, and Kate's reaction made him think she had mistaken her for someone else. Who though? Clearly a woman, and one with red hair and of high birth. But how would Kate come to know someone like that?

He looked down at the sleeping woman in his arms, his feisty little mystery. So full of life, and so full of secrets. If it took years, he vowed he would solve them all, one by one.

Hotel rooms tended to be on the cold side, but the one Jason was in now was hot, almost stifling. Kate must have turned the thermostat box off before leaving, and three days without air circulating had given the deluxe suite an old attic type of stuffiness. The authorities had already been through the place late yesterday, but apparently they hadn't thought to turn the air conditioning back on and neither had the maids, who still continued to check in twice a day, as if they expected Kate to magically reappear and promise them a special place in her article for diligent hotel worrying.

"It's all m'fault."

Paul sat opposite the table of Jason, three sheets to the wind. The empty glass carcasses of half the mini-bar were scattered in front of him.

"It's not," Jason said, not without a sigh. How many times had they had this conversation now?

"It is. If I hadn't upset'er, sh'never would've left the restaurant like she—like sh'did. And run off to God-knows-where."

Jason didn't believe that. But he hardly had the energy to keep his own guilty conscience at bay, much less his father's too. The man had already been here when he'd arrived—and already drunk. Jason assumed he'd come here to wallow in remorse privately. Kate would hate Jason for thinking it, but it was something his sister shared with their father. She, too, was good at wallowing.

"If you think her flight from your luncheon was what led to her disappearance," Jason told Paul, "then wouldn't it be fair to say that this is all my fault? I'm the one who set the date up in the first place, after all. I knew how… sensitive, she was about you. I shouldn't have pushed."

He hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose as memories of their last conversation assailed him. He'd all but called his sister a bitter coward and hung up on her. What kind of brother did that? It was enough to make him want to reach for his own tiny bottle of schnapps. And she'd called him right after she left the restaurant. He had heard his phone ring and known who it was. Sarah had been between contractions and been busy sucking on ice chips the nurses had given her; he could've answered. But he remembered thinking how Kate was only going to yell at him and he hadn't wanted to hear it. Not then.

He'd listened to her message over twenty times since then. If he had picked up, would she still be missing now? Or could he have maybe changed things?

With the air off the room was extra quiet. Besides the clinking of bottles as Paul rifled through the tiny fridge for more booze, there was no sound. Always, Jason had been able to feel Kate at the back of his consciousness, just the smallest of tingles. It let him know if she needed him, if she was in trouble or feeling particularly down. He liked to think of it as kind of one-way twin sense.

He felt nothing now. His mind was too quiet, just like the room.

"You should've stayed 'ome with y'newborn and wife," Paul said, and even trashed he managed to sound reproving. "I could've given you up—updates over the phone just's easily."

"I had to come."

"Y'wife needs you."

"No, Sarah assured me she could handle it. It's my sister who needs me now."

"Nothin' you can do, 'cept drive yourself crazy. At least back home, the baby would keep ya busy."

Jason clenched his jaw but said nothing. More clinking. It was so hot that even from across the table he could feel the cool air drifting out of the fridge.

Maybe he should've stayed home. But he'd hoped if he could get closer to where his sister had disappeared, that maybe he could pick up something that he couldn't back in the States.

As soon as he'd gotten off the plane, he'd gone to the restaurant and then did a three-mile trek around the entire area. When that proved fruitless, he'd gone to the hotel room and found Paul. But Jason had picked up on nothing here either. Not even when he dug out a shirt from one of Kate's suitcases and held it, hoping maybe the contact with something of hers would enhance whatever measly powers of brotherly intuition he possessed.

It worked with psychics and bloodhounds.

It hadn't worked with him. And breathing in his sister's scent, holding a shirt he could remember her wearing a hundred times before, had brought him as close as he'd ever come to an emotional breakdown.

Surely she wasn't dead. He would know if it was as bad as that, wouldn't he? His perception of her wouldn't have flickered out so gently if something fatal had befallen her. He would have known. He would have sensed it, dammit!

"J'son—"

"I think you need to rest, Dad," he interrupted tonelessly, getting to his feet and extracting the unopened bottle of liquor from Paul's hand. "Before you pass out on the table."

His father scowled but let himself be half-carried over to the bed. Jason couldn't pull down the covers and hold his dad up at the same time, but it was too hot for sheets anyway, so he just laid the man on top of the comforter.

"I gave 'er… th'necklace." Paul's voice had already started to thicken with sleep. Jason wasn't sure he heard him right.

"You gave her a necklace?"

His father nodded.

"You know she doesn't like gifts, Dad."

"Had to… was important."

"Well, it doesn't matter now. Just sleep. The sooner you sober up the sooner you can go home to your family."

"With family," Paul murmured. "Waitin' here… for m'daughter."

Jason had to walk away before those words undid him. He turned on the air conditioner, something he should have done when he'd first entered the room, and returned to his place at the table.

He pulled out his cell phone and stared at it. The battery was low; he would have to recharge it soon. He flipped it open and dialed the number to Kate's rental cell. After four rings, a default computer voice clicked on and told him to leave a message. He didn't. He'd already left five.

Jason shut his phone. Opened it. Shut it again. He glanced over at Paul. A snore told him his father was already out. He opened his phone again and dialed voicemail. A few seconds later, his sister's voice filled the too-quiet room.

"Hey, Jason. It's me, Kate. I just wanted to tell you…well, never mind. Congratulations about the baby. Call me as soon as you can, okay?"

Beep.

"Hey, Jason. It's me, Kate. I just wanted to tell you…well, never mind. Congratulations about the baby. Call me as soon as you can, okay?"

Beep.

"Hey, Jason. It's me, Kate…"


	11. Chapter Ten

"Aren't they just adorable?"

"Dear me, look at him! The poor gladiator looks so beset."

"The female looks no better. I don't think I've ever seen anyone look quite so terrified."

"Oh no! There she goes again!"

The two goddesses erupted into gales of laughter as they watched Katelyn jerk too hard on the horse's reins, sending it into a sharp left turn that caught her off guard and made her slip sideways off the saddle. She was saved from a faceplant in the dirt only by the gladiator's quick reflexes. He caught her about the waist and helped set her back in the saddle, looking torn between frustration and bewilderment.

"Epona would be beside herself to see such poor horsemanship," said Aphrodite, wiping tears from her eyes. Persephone had to agree. The goddess of horses would truly be appalled at little Katelyn's lack of skill. It seemed that not all mortals in the future learned how to ride.

She lounged back on a cream-colored chaise made of silk and raised her goblet. Ambrosia sloshed and she ran her tongue over the gold rim, licking up the drops. As sweet as honey and as refreshing as wine, the amber colored liquid was as cool as if chilled by a winter morning, though it was high summer and the sun shined down without a single cloud to obscure its outpouring of light and heat.

Aphrodite sprawled elegantly beside her on a matching chaise. In front of them was a low golden table covered with grapes, figs, pomegranates, pears and apples, all surrounding a giant jug filled with more ambrosia. Once a week they got together for breakfast on the goddess of love's terrace. It started at dawn and lasted until nightfall.

It was a very long breakfast.

Aphrodite's terrace was made out of marble, a subtle mixing of white and gray; it was like feasting atop a cloud. Beyond it, the grassy cliffs of Mount Olympus dropped off to reveal a clear sapphire sky and the occasional passing pegasus. The home of every god and goddess was nestled in the mountain's outcrops—save for Hades'—giving each immortal who lived here complete privacy and a perfect view. Tunnels deep within the earth connected each dwelling, making secret and not-so-secret trysts and meetings practically commonplace. Really, the whole mountain was like one huge palace made of stone, earth, and, at the very top, ice.

The goddess of spring loved coming back here, being able to bask in the nostalgia as well as the light. She could easily remember when this mountain had been home to her as well, and she'd wake up every morning to a god's eye view of the mortal world far below. She didn't regret leaving it all for Hades—the Underworld had it's own kind of beauty that she very much treasured—but she enjoyed her weekly visits all the same.

Today, Aphrodite had added her mirror to the mix. It floated above the spread of food, doubled in size so that both women could more easily watch the mortal proceedings.

"I am surprised they are even able to stand, much less give riding lessons," Aphrodite said, nibbling daintily on a fig. "The gladiator and his woman are either better at holding their alcohol than I, or they drank very little. I myself consumed so much wine at the party last night that I fear most of its events will be forever muddled in my mind."

"A party?" said Persephone.

Aphrodite blinked at her. "You didn't watch?"

"No. Hades and I… last night, well… we were busy," she explained lamely, her cheeks burning. She didn't mind gossiping about her friend's love life, but she always found it hard to discuss her own.

"Really, dear, his prudishness is rubbing off on you." The goddess of love rolled her eyes. "To answer your question, yes, our little mortals went to a party the previous eve. And it looked like so much fun I dropped in for a visit. Where do you think I picked them up?"

She waved a hand towards the dim inner rooms behind her. Through the gauzy red curtains that divided the terrace from the bedchamber, Persephone could see the unconscious figures of at least eight mortal men laying in various stages of undress, either on the fur covered floor or silk enshrouded bed.

And to think, she had been embarrassed to discuss her intimacies with Hades!

"Some of them look quite fierce," she commented, her gaze lingering on one heavily scarred man in particular who slept half-propped against the bed's headboard. He was completely nude except for a crimson sheet draped over his waist. Aphrodite saw where she was looking and smiled.

"Yes, the gladiator in particular was very delightful," she agreed. "It will be a shame to let him go. But Athena will have my head if I keep him too long. You know how she is about her warriors. She's even more obsessed with their happiness than your Hades."

"Why would she take issue with your activities?" Persephone asked.

"She thinks my—activities, as you say—are too strenuous for a retired gladiator." Aphrodite snorted. "What the warrior goddess doesn't understand is that they like it. They may not be fighting anymore, but they're not dead. Their carnal urges do not cease along with the bloodshed. And neither does their stamina." She tossed the rest of her fig over the railing. A winged horse swooped down and snatched it up, giving a victorious whinny. Its coat and wings were such a blinding shade of white that it hurt to look directly at it.

"Really, virgins can be such stick-in-the-muds," the goddess of love grumbled, watching the pegasus through squinted eyes as it caught an updraft and coasted away, munching happily on its fruit.

Not wanting her friend's mood to sour, Persephone suggested peeking in on the mortals again. To her relief, Aphrodite agreed, and they passed the rest of the morning watching the gladiator play riding instructor.

"I better head back," Persephone said a couple hours later, taking one last sip of ambrosia before standing.

"But it's still so early!" Aphrodite exclaimed. "Hardly past noon!"

"I'm anxious to get back to the Underworld. Hades might need me."

"For what? He knows this is our day. Is there a problem?"

"Well, no. Not exactly."

Aphrodite rolled her eyes. " 'Not exactly' means 'yes'. Now sit back down and explain it to me. Things can't be too bad if you were just together with him last night, can they? Tell me what I can do to help."

Just like the lord of the Underworld could freeze people with his stare when he was angry, the goddess of love could force capitulation through sheer willpower alone. Persephone sank back down onto her chaise with a sigh.

"It's not anything like that. I'm honestly not certain what is wrong. It's just… he's been disappearing a lot these past couple days. Not for long periods, but long enough that I notice. And worry."

"Have you confronted him?"

"No! I… Well, I do not know how to bring it up to him without sounding distrustful."

Aphrodite rose and came over to kneel by Persephone's feet. It was one of the most humble gestures an immortal could make to another, and she did it without thought.

The goddess of love took Persephone's hands between her own and squeezed gently. "He is not cheating on you, spring. You must believe me on this. Whatever is going on, you can trust that he will always be true to you."

"I'm not—I mean, I didn't—" Persephone forced herself to take a breath. "I don't believe Hades would ever be unfaithful to me. That's not what I'm worried about at all. I think his strange behavior has more to do with the gladiator."

"Crispinus? What about him?"

"I think he regrets helping him. That he's worried about the wrath of the Fates."

"He seemed fine with it the other night when I came to the Underworld."

"I know, but what else could it possibly be?"

Aphrodite seemed to give it some real thought for a minute, but then shrugged and stood, pulling Persephone to her feet also.

"I do not know what your love's problem is, other than him being a prude—" She grinned at Persephone's half-hearted glare. "So you will just have to go and ask him. Distrust be damned."

The goddess of spring looked doubtful. "You really think that wise?"

Her friend gave a firm nod. "I do. Now go. Confront Hades and do not let him leave until you are satisfied with his answer. Chain him to your side if you have to—I rather doubt he'll mind it. I'll keep watch over the mortals while you sort things out with your god."

Persephone seemed to waffle for a second, but then she straightened her stance and lifted her chin. "You're right. I'm going to go. Wish me luck."

"You do not need luck," Aphrodite told her. "You have love."

The afternoon was bright and warm with only the smallest dappling of dusky gray clouds invading the sky from the west. The roads were clear—they had passed a couple chariots a few hours ago, but hadn't seen anyone since—and the breeze was doing a great job of blowing away the worst of the summer's heat.

But Crispinus was having a hard time appreciating any of that. He was too busy fighting off the feelings of relief and guilt that had twined themselves around his heart since leaving the city of Rome. He felt as if he'd gotten away with something he shouldn't have. Like a young plebian boy who has stolen a loaf of bread out of hunger, and is just coming to realize that he isn't going to be caught. He knows he shouldn't have taken it. But he also knows that he won't regret having done it.

Having Kate with him now was very much like that. Crispinus had knowingly, and with little hesitation, taken her away from the one place she had a chance at finding who she was looking for. And as joyous as he was to know that Kate was now his, with no one able to separate her from him, he couldn't help also feeling guilty about it. He was not a selfish person by nature, but he had made the selfish choice by taking her. The only comfort he could give his discontented conscience was by promising himself that when this thing with Cato was all over with, and his relationship with Kate on more sturdy ground, he would return to Rome and help her search again.

Crispinus looked over at where Kate was cantering along beside him. Staying at the inn three nights in a row had stretched his already meager funds to the limit, and he'd had to sell one of the earrings she'd given him to buy the two beasts they now rode. Crispinus still had the other one, and unless a dire financial emergency came up, he planned on keeping it.

It was odd though: Kate's ears weren't pierced. He'd brushed and replaited her hair this morning—much to her delight—and with it back, it was plain that her cute little lobes were unmarred by holes or scars. So why have earrings?

Kate didn't notice his curious gaze. She was too busy trying to stay in her saddle. Another odd thing: she couldn't ride. When Crispinus first showed her the horses that morning, she'd tripped over herself in her haste to get away from them. No matter where she lived, she should be used to equines. Even the upper class females, who had slaves carry them around in a litter everywhere they went, still knew how to ride when it came down to it. So why didn't Kate?

Next to Crispin, Kate struggled to stay on her horse and squelch the panic she felt at going so fast on such a giant animal. She'd never been the country girl, nor ever wanted to be, and she'd had a traumatic experience with a mean-spirited pony at the fair once when she was a little girl that had put horses on her "Things To Avoid Forever" list. Crispin had tried to teach her the basics, but giving a crash course in horseback riding was hard enough without a language barrier between them. She wasn't sure she'd learned very much except for a bunch of curse words, thanks to Crispin's hearty swearing every time she lost her seat.

Oh well. She might not yet be able to order her own food at Latin speaking restaurant, but now she could sure as hell complain about it.

Her horse shied away from a passing butterfly and Kate tightened her grip on the reins hard enough to turn her knuckles white. She might have whimpered a little too, because Crispin shot her an odd look. She knew her ignorance confused him—among other things. That morning she'd woken to find Crispin inspecting her cut-up bra and panties with great curiosity, just like Claudia had.

Kate's cheeks burned at the memory of the gladiator cutting her underwear off. She couldn't say it hadn't been hot to see him lose control like that, but now Kate really wished she'd had enough presence of mind to stop him. Riding a galloping horse over country roads was not something a girl should do unsupported, and without panties all the dust being kicked up by her horse's hooves was going to be lodged in some very interesting places come nightfall, toga or no.

She had no idea where they were going. Crispin had tried to explain it to her, but eventually given up. Honestly, she was just glad he was taking her with him. Kate was well aware that she was still in a precarious situation. Despite her efforts to do otherwise, she was now in the exact same position her mother had been in, and with no way out of it. She was throwing all her hopes on a guy she hardly knew, and if he decided to wash his hands of her, it would be no more than she deserved for putting all her eggs in his basket.

Her only comfort was that he seemed very serious about having her stay with him. Hell, he'd spent the whole time last night pleasuring her without even hinting that she return the favor, something Kate hadn't even realized until this morning. A guy just fooling around with a girl wouldn't do something so selfless like that, would he? Whatever Crispin's plans for her were, Kate didn't think leaving her was part of them.

Unless he found out the truth about her.

It wasn't something she'd had to worry about before, but if this relationship or whatever it was became a long-term thing, her past—or rather, her future—was going to be a major problem. Kate had no doubt that if Crispin learned where and when she came from, he'd take off as fast as his powerful legs could carry him. Which, she now knew, was very fast indeed.

It almost made her glad she couldn't speak Latin. It kept her from having to answer any difficult questions—Like where her strange clothing came from. Kate knew not being able to ask about stuff like that bothered him, but honest explanations were the quickest way to make him run. And though it chaffed to have to rely so fully on someone, she needed this man's help if she was going to survive here—at least for a while. If she was really stuck here like she seemed to be, then she would do everything she could to get back her independence and stand on her own two feet again. Until that time, though, being able to stay with Crispin was essential.

Not that it was any hardship. Kate thought again about last night and felt her dimming blush come blazing back. Oh yeah, putting up with the gladiator's attentions was definitely not a hardship. But it was dangerous. As sad as she would've been to have left him at the party, after what they'd done together last night, it would be ten times worse.

As far as Kate was concerned though, her chances of getting back seemed pretty grim right now, so she be damned if she wasn't going to enjoy Crispin while she had him. If and when she had to leave, she'd deal with the pain of that then. Who knew? Maybe by then she'd even be able to convince him to come with her.

At dusk, Crispin drew to a halt. Kate's horse followed suit automatically. The action didn't surprise her. Her not-so-faithful steed had followed the gladiator's lead all day, ignoring every panicked "whoa!" she'd thrown at it. Despite her attempts to "be commanding" and "let him know who was boss" the horse knew it wasn't her.

The craggy fields had long ago become lush woodland with a canopy that blocked the last few rays of the setting sun. There was nothing around but endless soaring trees roped together by thick vines and plumped up with bushes as high as her chin. There were no inns around here, that was for sure.

Crispin led their mounts a little ways off the main road and through the crowding foliage to a less bush-congested area, where they would be safely out of sight should someone pass by. He dismounted, unsheathed his blade, and with a "wait here" look at Kate, strode off into the trees.

Kate stayed in her saddle. She couldn't imagine it was smart to stop in such an isolated area. There would be no way to get help if something bad happened. But they couldn't exactly ride through the night. Their horses needed to rest, and even if they didn't, it wasn't like there were streetlights to illuminate the way. Once it got dark, that was it. Lights out.

The thought unnerved Kate, but she told herself to remember that Crispin was probably used to this sort of thing. There was nothing to worry about. She should think of tonight as hard-core camping—just without the marshmallows.

An image of sitting around a campfire with Crispin, eating s'mores and telling ghost stories, popped into her head, and she enjoyed it until the bushes to her right began rustling as someone attempted to make way.

Her horse tossed its head in agitation, stamping its feet as it shied away. Kate increased pressure on the reins to make it stand steady, then leaned over to pull her dagger from her boot. She raised the small weapon as if she had skill with it, trying to control the tremor in her hand.

The branches parted and Crispin stepped out, to her relief. He took in the dagger in her fist and she could've sworn she saw a glint of approval in those gray-blue eyes of his. It pleased her more than was rational considering she'd only been bluffing.

He sheathed his sword and she copied him, making sure she didn't cut her ankle with the blade—talk about ruining her ancient street-cred. He reached up to help her off her horse and she didn't hesitate to slide into his arms. She groaned as her booted feet touched the forest floor. It felt so good to be on solid ground again.

She looked up at Crispin and smiled at the way he lifted his eyebrows in question. "Terra firma," she said with a happy sigh.

That earned a chuckle from him and a tight hug she wished lasted longer than it did. But it was obvious Crispin's mind was on other things. Despite having checked the area thoroughly, his gaze never stopped scanning the trees as they unsaddled the horses and collected firewood. Kate hated the idea that they could be attacked by some kind of crazy Roman highwaymen, but she trusted in Crispin's ability to protect them. He'd taken out two street toughs in twenty seconds flat. If anyone could keep her safe, it was him.

He managed to make a small fire just before night hit full-force, then left her to guard it while he disappeared again. Kate thought he was making another sweep of the area, but when he returned it was with two rabbits, both dead.

"Oh, God."

They had to eat, she knew that, and Crispin was definitely not the "picking berries" type of guy, but she still couldn't watch him skin and dress the poor things. He seemed to find her squeamishness amusing, chuckling every time he looked at her and saw that she was determinedly not looking at him.

To distract herself, Kate wandered over to where the horses were. Crispin had left on their reins and tied the ends to the branches of a couple sturdy looking trees, but there was enough slack that the beasts could still graze.

They really were beautiful animals, even if they did terrify her. Crispin's was a mottled black and brown; hers was a dappled gray. She wondered who he'd bought them from, or if they were his and he just kept them stabled somewhere in the city until he needed them. Maybe he took them from the coliseum?

That thought brought up other wonderings, such as when Crispin would have to return to his job. She could've sworn that gladiators were not so free they could roam around like this in their downtime, unless it was to travel to a different coliseum in another city. Then again, most of what she knew about gladiators came from that Russell Crowe movie. Probably not her best resource.

Kate gave her horse a gentle pat. It lifted its long neck to look back at her with its equally long face, and she cautiously reached forward to stroke its velvety nose.

"Nice horsey," she murmured. "Thank you for putting up with me today."

It chuffed loudly into her hand and lifted its head to butt her shoulder, knocking her back a step. Kate laughed and pressed a palm to its neck to steady herself. What would Jason say if she told him she'd spent the day riding a horse across the countryside?

Her brother's somber face from her dream appeared in her mind, darkening her mood. Was he looking for her yet? It would kill him to lose her on top of their mother. God knew it was killing her.

Kate dropped her hand and went back over to take a seat by the fire, wrapping her arms about her legs and resting her chin on her knees. Perhaps she was giving up too easily, being too passive. But what else could she do? Her life right now wasn't exactly overflowing with options.

A gentle humming broke her morose thoughts. Surprised, Kate looked across the flames at Crispin, making sure to focus on his face and not the bloody mess in front of him.

She couldn't help but smile. He looked adorable, with his curls in sweaty disarray from riding all afternoon and his face softened and calm. The only time she ever saw him this relaxed was when he was sleeping.

His humming broke into a soft singing. He was so absorbed in what he was doing she doubted he realized she could hear him. The song's melody had a wistful tone to it, sad yet hopeful. Kate wished she could understand the words. She could've used some hope right then.

When the last note drifted off a few minutes later, it took Kate a few seconds to pull herself out of the odd feeling of comfort the song had weaved around her. She cleared her throat, making Crispin look up sharply. By the slight blush that bloomed in his cheeks, it was obvious he'd forgotten she could hear him.

"That was wonderful, Crispin," she murmured. Then, remembering Evodius's complement last night to Scipio, she added, "Beate."

Crispin appeared flustered by her praise. He coughed, averted his eyes, and didn't look at her again until after he'd finished preparing their meal. When the two rabbits had been skewered and left to cook over the flames, Kate moved to join him on the other side of the fire.

"You sing beautifully," she told him.

"See-ing-ga," Crispin echoed, sounding it out. Hearing him trying to understand and speak her language filled Kate with a bubbly warmth she wished she could bottle and keep forever.

"Sic. Sing," she said. "You know, la-la-la. You were great. Beate."

"Kate… sing?" Crispin asked.

"Who me? No, no, no. I'm a horrible singer. You can go again, though. I'd love to hear another one from you."

Crispin leaned in close enough that she could feel the warm puff of his breath against her cheek. She couldn't stop a shiver when he nuzzled her ear, or a quiet gasp when he whispered, "Sing, Kate."

He learns one word and already I'm in trouble, Kate thought. She gulped and pulled away, not daring to look into those beautiful eyes she knew were watching her.

"Okay, okay. Give me a minute. Um…" Kate wracked her brain for something easy. Something short. Something that she could remember all the words to and have it still sound good a capella.

Then it came to her. Blackbird, by the Beatles. It had been her mother's favorite song and only had five stanzas. She could make it through that, couldn't she?

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night," she murmured, then realized she'd sung so low Crispin couldn't even hear her. She cleared her throat and restarted louder.

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night,  
take these broken wings and learn to fly.  
All your life, you were only waiting,  
for this moment to arise."

She glanced over at Crispin. The gladiator was watching her with wide eyes, but in a good way. She went on.

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night,  
take these sunken eyes and learn to see.  
All your life, you were only waiting,  
for this moment to be free."

As she sang, memories of her mother began to surface, moments that haunted as much as they inspired.

Kate was four, watching cartoons with Jason while their babysitter slept on the couch behind them. It was early morning. Their mother came home from her dancing job and she looked exhausted. There were bags under her eyes and a slump to her shoulders. It was the first time Kate had broken through the self-absorption of childhood to notice her mother's pain.

She over looked at Jason and saw that he'd noticed it too, perhaps had been aware of it for a while. Then their mother looked up and gave them one of her brilliant smiles. She asked if they wanted pancakes. At four, it was a perfect distraction.

A lump formed in her throat as the nostalgia rose, but she swallowed it and sang the third stanza:

"Blackbird fly, blackbird fly…  
Into the light, of the dark black night.  
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly…  
Into the light, of the dark black night."

More memories swarmed. Kate was ten, standing next to her mother in the mall while Jason got scolded. He'd stolen some man's wallet and presented it to their mother like a proud conqueror returning with his spoils.

"We do not steal, Jason," their mother reprimanded him. She was on her knees so that they were eye to eye. She held the wallet in one hand and his scrawny arm in the other. Jason's happiness drained away and was replaced with a look of defiance.

"But you said you needed rent money! I heard you on the phone! I heard you! You said!"

Passing shoppers shot them pitying looks. Their mother tried to shush him but Jason was too upset. He started crying, and Kate found herself starting to cry too.

"But you said! You said!"

Kate tried to shake off the heartache clutching her, but there was another memory there, replaying itself in her mind without permission.

She was fourteen and just returned home from school. She heard crying coming from their mother's bedroom and went to peek her head in. Her mother sat on the bed, sobbing harder than she ever had before. In her hands was the secret picture of Kate's father.

Kate started forward to comfort her, but then her mother jumped up and hurled the picture with all her might at the wall. Glass shattered and flew everywhere. She looked so furious that Kate fled, too surprised and scared to say anything. Later, she found out her mother had been fired from her dancing job. By then, Kate was no longer naïve about the type of dancing her mother was doing, but they all continued to refer to it that way, as simply "dancing", and then only when direct reference to it couldn't be avoided.

When Kate's mother had asked her boss what she was supposed to do after he'd fired her, he'd given her a card and suggested she call a friend of his who made videos for a very specific clientele.

"He likes using older women," her boss had said.

Regretting now having picked this song and just wanting it finished, Kate went on with the final stanza:

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night,  
take these broken wings and learn to fly.  
All your life, you were only waiting,  
for this moment to arise.  
You were only waiting, for this moment to arise.  
You were only waiting, for this moment to arise."

Despite her inner turmoil, or maybe because of it, Kate finished strong and clear. In the sudden absence of her voice, everything seemed louder. The crackle of the fire, the buzz of insects…

Next time, she thought, she would pick a light-hearted campfire song instead.

Kate didn't consciously realize she was avoiding Crispin's gaze until she felt a warm fingertip under her chin gently forcing her to turn. Kate had been right not to look into the gladiator's eyes before. They were shining with so much affection it made her throat tight. No way could she have seen that look and still sang. Right now, she couldn't even talk.

"Beate, Katelyn," Crispin murmured, and then he kissed her.

It was tender and slow, not frantic like their other kisses had been. Only their lips touched, alternating between sweet, open-mouth sips and teasing brushes. It was nice, being able to linger in the contentment such innocent affection brought. The worries in Kate's heart about the future retreated, not for good but for the moment at least, and she was happy enough with that.

When the rabbit was done cooking, they ate. Crispin pulled a wineskin from his bag and they shared it. They didn't talk, but they watched each other and shared a lot of blushes and grins, as if they were innocent young teenagers again feeling the effects of their first crushes. Kate couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed a man's company so much.

When they were done, Kate excused herself so she could go use the little girl's bush. Crispin wasn't happy when she made him stay behind, but she wasn't going far, and as comfortable as she was with him now, she refused to let him watch her pee… or even be within listening distance. The public bathrooms were bad enough.

She walked until she had only the faintest flickers of firelight to light her way, and though she stumbled a few times over some roots and rocks, she didn't run into any crazies hidden in the dark or hungry animals desperate for a meal; even the insects mostly kept their distance.

Kate did her business as quick as she could—mourning her loss of indoor plumbing the entire time—then headed back to camp. She wondered as she walked if Crispin would try anything again tonight. Maybe she would do something nice for him, to make up for her lack of participation the night before. Her hormones were more than happy with that idea, certainly, but her more practical side urged caution. Though she hadn't changed her mind about her earlier decision to give in and enjoy herself, the last thing she needed was to get herself knocked up. Risking her heart was one thing, risking the life of a child was something else.

Kate had been foolish not to think of it last night. She was somehow going to have to broach the subject with Crispin about using some sort of protection. Roman's had that, didn't they? She hoped so. Hey, Crispin. Got any Trojan's lying around? Kate chuckled, thinking how angry he would get if he thought she meant the mythical warriors. They were Greek, weren't they? One of the people the Roman's had conquered? Kate sighed. She was really starting to regret not paying better attention in school. Those history classes would've come in damned handy right about now.

She stepped through the break in the trees that outlined their little camp. All was the same as when she'd left it. The horses had finished nibbling at the grass. Hers seemed to be dozing on its feet while the other had flopped down on its side for a good roll in the grass. Crispin still sat in front of the fire, looking lost in thought. And of course, there was the man sneaking up behind him, holding a dagger aloft.

Not the same! Not the same! her mind cried. Even though the firelight made it hard to see the shadowed things beyond its reach, there was no mistaking the male figure creeping toward Crispin, nor the sharp blade glinting in his fist.

Kate opened her mouth to cry out a warning, but at the same moment the man pounced, going in for the kill, and she knew even if she yelled Crispin wouldn't be able to react in time.

Her feet moved even before she'd consciously made the decision about what she was going to do. Her surroundings were a blur, Crispin and his attacker the only clear things her eyes could focus on. Time seemed to be moving twice as fast as she threw herself between the two men.

Then it stopped.

Kate fell against Crispin's back, knocking him close enough to the fire to singe the tip of his nose and make him curse. When she whirled around the stranger's eyes were bulging, his mouth hanging open in surprise at her interception of his attack. But momentum kept his hand—and the dagger in it—moving downward, no longer aiming for Crispin's back but instead for Kate's chest.

She twisted to the right and raised up her arms to fend him off. Her fingers curled around his wrist, slowing the descent but not stopping it; he was too strong. She felt his blade pierce her skin, sinking deep and releasing the warning scream for Crispin that had been bottled up in her throat. Behind her, Crispin finally managed to get to his feet.

It was too late though. Far too late.

The pain engulfed her, blinded her to everything but the fire thrumming from her shoulder, arm and chest. Impossible to tell where she'd been hit. Impossible to tell—or care.

Her legs gave way and Kate crumpled. The only thing she could think was how unfair it was. She'd spent so many hours picturing Jason and Crispin in her mind, but it seemed it was the dirty face of a stranger seared into her brain that would be the last thing she ever saw.


	12. Chapter Eleven

It was a testament to how bad his instincts had become. Crispinus's first impulse upon seeing Kate fall was not to find out where the attack had come from in order to shield her from another assault, but to instead go to her aid immediately and inspect the damage.

Of course, if he did that, there was no question that they would both be killed. Her attacker—or was it his?—was still standing within a sword's reach. Though he seemed dazed, it wouldn't last, and Crispinus couldn't help Kate if he was dead.

So he averted his gaze from the blood covering Kate's precious body, pretended not to see how she writhed in agony as he stepped over her to face his opponent, and, perhaps hardest of all, he ignored the wretched whimpers that slipped erratically from those trembling lips, as if she was trying to stay quiet but couldn't quite manage it.

It was like standing in a nightmare. One minute he'd been pondering his future with Kate, and the next she was slamming into his back, screaming his name in pain and fear. He'd vowed to keep Kate safe, and yet here again he'd failed. First the men in the temple, then Valencia, and now this—he could've drowned in all self-hatred he felt right then.

But he refused to give into the weakness. Right now, he needed to finish this so he could help Kate. He could berate himself later.

Crispinus unsheathed his sword. The sound jolted his opponent out of his shock, but though the man raised his dagger automatically in defense, he began backing up. His eyes were wide and terrified. Crispinus knew he would flee instead of fight if given the opportunity.

He wouldn't get it.

"It was an accident!" Kate's assailant cried, and to Crispinus's disgust, the man's legs actually wobbled with weak-kneed fear. "Stupid whore jumped right out 'n front of me! I couldn't stop it. Please."

"Did someone pay you to do this?" Crispinus demanded. "Did Cato tell you to come here and—"

"N-no one sent me. I j-just needed the money. I was passin' by and you looked rich 'nuff. What with your horses and your fancy armor an' all. Please, don't—" He gasped as his back hit a tree. He tried to move around it, but Crispinus was already there, pressing his sword to the man's throat. He froze and gulped hard enough to prick himself against the edge of the blade. A thin trickle of blood oozed down the flat face of the steel.

"I want you to know," Crispinus told him, "That I would have killed you slowly, painfully. I would have made it last for days. I would have had you begging for death and laughed while you did it." At this man turned a deathly shade of white, clear to see even in the shadows of the night. Seeing his terror did nothing to curb Crispinus's rage. His whole body was shaking from his effort to suppress it.

"As it is," he went on, "I have no time for that now. So I'm going to show you mercy tonight, something few else would have offered you."

"Oh, thank you!" Tears of relief trickled from the corner of the man's eyes—or maybe that was just a belated side effect of his fear. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much! I swear I—"

But Crispinus didn't bother to wait and hear what he was swearing to him. As he'd said, he didn't have the time. He swung his blade across the man's throat in one clean slice, then stepped aside to avoid the spray of blood. The man gagged on his words and his legs finally gave out. He sank to his knees. Crispinus sheathed his sword and watch dispassionately as Kate's attacker bled out in front of him.

"Y'said… mercy…" The words were garbled, hardly understandable through his blood-coated lips.

"A quick death is more mercy than a wretch like you deserves," Crispinus told him flatly. "You better pray Hades has as much mercy as I."

The man died before he could manage a response.

Crispinus ran back to Kate. She lay still in the damp bracken. The light from the fire made the blood covering her body shine like liquid ruby.

"C-Crispin." Her voice sounded as shaky and weak as her attacker's—after Crispinus had slit his throat.

He crouched down beside her. Kate raised trembling hand and he took it in his own and kissed her dirty knuckles. He wished he had some way of trading places with her, or even better, reversing time to stop what had happened from happening in the first place.

He didn't waste time searching the soaked folds of her bloody clothes for where she'd been stabbed. He pulled out his dagger and cut it all away, giving him an unobstructed view of her left side. He suffered a flashback of having done something similar the previous night, but the desperation of that action had been one of lust. This time it was one of fear.

He saw it immediately, a gash so deep as to be black just underneath her collarbone. Not her heart, but still too damn close, and it was bleeding freely with no signs of stopping. Crispinus had seen enough wounds in his life to know what was fatal and what wasn't. Kate wouldn't last long like this. Not long at all.

"C-Crispin?" She sounded scared. Whether her fear came from his expression or from her own weakening body, he wasn't sure.

Crispinus stroked her cheek, gently, then leaned over and pressed a brief kiss to her forehead. When he picked up his dagger and rose, Kate reached for his hand again, but he pretended not to see. If he lingered even a second he would lose what little nerve he had and she would die. He couldn't let that happen.

He went to the fire's edge and slid his blade into the flames, watching it heat, smoke, turn black. When it was hot enough, he pulled it out and wiped the dark residue off on his sleeve.

The blade glowed red.

He turned and started back towards Kate. He had the crazy urge to hide the weapon behind his back, but she'd already seen it and knew. The stark terror in her eyes told him she knew.

"Crispin, n-no."

As weak as she was, Kate still managed to scoot a few inches away from him—inches he overcame in a single stride. She fought him, slapping and clawing at him as much as she was able, but Crispinus overpowered her, feeling even guiltier for the ease with which he did so. He straddled her waist and pinned her arms with his free hand. When it was clear he had her trapped, Kate stopped struggling and simply cried, begging in that strange language of hers.

"I'm so sorry, beautiful." His voice was rough. Tears blurred his vision and he blinked hard. They splashed down onto Kate's cheeks only to be washed away by tears of her own. "I have to. It's the only way."

The first touch of the blade to her chest was lighter than it should've been due to his hesitancy to hurt her. The result was that it still caused Kate a monstrous amount of pain but didn't close the wound like it should've. Kate's pleas turned into screams of agony. Her whole body arched off the forest floor and Crispinus had to put more of his weight on her to keep her still. He cursed, took a deep breath, and pressed the flat-edge of the dagger as hard as he could against her skin. He smelled flesh burn, heard it sizzle and pop. Kate's cries abruptly stopped. Her whole body went limp beneath his. Crispinus looked up and saw that she'd passed out.

A few seconds later he removed the dagger to see. Kate's wound was a mess of burned and half-melted flesh, black twisted with an angry red. It would scar badly, but the bleeding had stopped. That was all that mattered.

Assured she would live for the time being, Crispinus dropped the cooling blade into the grass, stood, and walked into the trees. When he felt he was far enough away, he promptly bent over and threw up.

By the time he managed to get himself back under control, his stomach was cramped and his eyes felt raw. He retrieved his bag from beside the fire, then stumbled back over to sit at Kate's side. He bandaged her wound the best he could using strips he cut from one of his old tunicas.

He wasn't used to treating injuries. Being a gladiator meant there were always someone there to take care of him when he got hurt, and he'd never been hurt as badly as Kate. Fortunately—or unfortunately—he'd witnessed other gladiators being treated for similar cuts. Even the toughest of them had screamed when the burning blade touched them. A lot had had to be tied down. That alone told him how much he'd hurt Kate.

But if he hadn't done it she would have died. He would've had to sit there and watch as the life slowly drained from those beautiful, expressive eyes of hers—eyes that would've too clearly shown him how much fear and pain she was in, right up until the end. No, there'd been no choice. Crispinus could only pray that she when she woke she would understand. If she didn't, well, that hurt too much to think about. But better Kate alive and hating him than… he couldn't even finish the thought.

As carefully as he could, he dressed her in clean clothes, noting with no little concern that she didn't so much as twitch under his handling. She had retreated deep inside herself, away from the pain. He tried to tell himself it was a good thing.

When he was done, Crispinus changed himself, then gathered Kate into his arms and held her close.

She risked her life for me tonight.

Kate had jumped in front of him, taking the blow that should have been his. There were no words for how much that meant to him. This woman was extraordinary, and he had been smart—if selfish—to keep her.

Crispinus hugged Kate to his chest, tucking her head against his neck so he could feel the soft exhales that told him she still fought for life. There was a feeling growing inside of him. It was bigger than gratitude, softer than tenderness, and harder than lust. He wasn't sure what it was, but he needed Kate to survive so he could figure it out.

And then act on it.

Despite her lofty resolutions upon leaving Aphrodite's, it took Persephone the rest of the day to plan how she wanted to approach Hades and confront him. By the time she'd worked out exactly what she wanted to say and bolstered her courage enough to go find him, it was well past sundown.

An hour's search proved he was nowhere in the palace. He'd missed dinner, but at the time Persephone had still been rallying herself and considered his absence a lucky reprieve. It did prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, however, that there was something going on with him, and it needed to be addressed—would be addressed—tonight.

She took her search to the Elysian Fields. It was as much a place of refuge for the departed souls as it was for them. Before she started checking out the miles of riverbanks Hades sometimes wandered in his more morose moments, she wanted to check here first.

The night was warm, with just the lightest of chills in the air. All the flowers had closed for the night, their petals curled tight around themselves, their stems hunched over in exhaustion. Only the trees continued to rustle and sway—but more sedately than during the daytime. Fat fireflies as big as a grown man's thumb flew so slowly over the grass it seemed as if they were more floating on the breeze than flying anywhere.

Persephone kept her pace slow as she searched through the fields. From far in the distance she could hear the younger departed mortals playing chase in the night, the echoes of their carefree giggles and joyful squeals carrying across the water and wind to her ears. Music in its most innocent form.

Hades wasn't here. But he was close, and he was angry—she could feel it even way out here. Those two things told her where he was, and she couldn't stop herself from shuddering: Tartarus. Someone bad had died, and they had angered the god of the Underworld enough for him to come give and them their sentence personally. Well, at least that explained where he was.

This time.

Persephone cast her gaze to the far edge of the field where the bravest copse of poplar trees hid the path to Tartarus. No souls played around there, no fireflies flew. Even the smaller plant life, the flowers and grasses, shied away from growing around the area. It was just too close. Nothing of any sweetness could survive within for long.

She briefly entertained the idea of retreating to the palace and awaiting Hades there, but decided against it. Part of it was because she was afraid that if she waited too long, she would lose her courage to confront him, but mostly it was because her love was quite literally in hell right now. She owed it to him to support him in his time of need.

The first thing Persephone felt when she stepped through the trees and onto the dirt road to Tartarus was her love's rage. Out in the fields, distance and the trees had sheltered her from its full force, but now wrath thickened the air, making everything around her seem alive and malicious. The ground cursed her for stepping on it; the wind wanted nothing more than to blow her away; even the air seemed to fight her intake of breath, as if she was a glutton for needing it. Breathing, breathing, always breathing! She felt hated by the universe and everything in it. Why don't you just die? it seemed to hiss. Nobody wants you, you're worthless! Pathetic!

But she was not worthless. She was the goddess of spring, conveyor of the most important season. Partner of Hades. Reminding herself of these things helped keep Persephone from caving under the rage surrounding her. She had to remember that these feelings were just a manifestation of Hade's emotions—not real.

Still, following that emotion to its source felt like walking willingly to her death. Immortals had little need for biological instinct, but even with that particular sense somewhat dulled, Persephone could feel the manifested peril well enough that her body wanted to act accordingly, even if the mind knew different. Hades' anger wasn't even directed at her and still she could hardly stop herself from fleeing. What must it feel like, she wondered, to be the recipient of such hate, and be nothing than a mortal spirit?

The path deteriorated the farther she went, becoming rockier and more uneven until she had to watch every step she took. Trees still grew, but without color or leaves. It was like a forest after a great fire had feasted upon it, black wood skeletons half-buried in ash. Several times Persephone thought she heard the crackle of a lingering flame, smelled a hint of sulfur in the air, but when she turned to look there was never anything there. Perhaps a wisp of smoke, but it always dissipated before she could be sure.

Even as anxious as she was, Persephone couldn't help but take pride in coming here. Somewhere ahead was the entrance to the place gods and mortals alike feared with all their being. The place that gave Hades his dark reputation, the first thing people thought of when they thought of death. Even the great Zeus, armed to the teeth with his lightning bolts and a sealed vow of protection from his brother, would have cowered coming here. And yet she, innocent goddess of spring, treaded this path willingly. A path made all the more terrifying by her lover's anger radiating like a sentient poison through the air.

Abruptly the path broke off, revealing a clearing of more dirt and dead scrub brush. Hades was there, standing over the form of a shaking soul curled in the fetal position on the ground at his feet. It looked to be a man; a very dirty one of indeterminate age. Across his throat gaped a neat black wound. It told her he'd had his throat slit, and by someone who knew what they were doing.

Persephone ducked behind a tall rose bush before either man could notice her. Like the trees, it had no leaves or flower buds, but the branches of thorns were strong and thick, and intertwined around and up each other so tightly that she was safely hidden from view. From here, she could hear the sobs of the poor soul who'd somehow gained the unfortunate honor of being damned by the lord of the Underworld himself.

It was odd. The man didn't seem the type to warrant such special attention. His figure was fairly weak, even by mortal standards, his soul more incorporeal than most. If Persephone hadn't known any better, she would've thought her love had made a mistake. But in centuries of living in the Underworld, Hades had never falsely accused anyone. If the man was here, than here was where he belonged.

"Please," the soul begged from his place on the ground, "I didn' mean to hurt 'er, I swear!"

Hades snorted and crossed his arms. "So your knife fell into her chest on accident then?"

"She jumped in my way and I couldn' stop it! I was on'y after the man! The man!"

"What made you decide to attack at all?"

The soul looked up at the god of the Underworld with pleading eyes. "He—he had armor with 'im, and weapons. Lotsa them. I figured he was wealthy. I needed the money so badly, y-your greatness! And he caught two rabbits when I couldn' catch nothin' for days! I was starvin'! Have mercy, please!"

But Hades' anger did not abate at the man's words, and being so close in range Persephone could feel his malice coating her skin like an invisible oil. The ground picked up it's grumbling about her weight. The air hissed at her. Even the rose bushes she hid behind shook with anger at her nerve.

"Prick her," snapped its branches to the thorns. "Stab her. Make her bleed. Prick the goddess! Kill the goddess!"

The fact that it was a plant made it even more disconcerting. It said something about her love's power that he could turn the goddess of spring's own creations against her.

"Did it not occur to you, in your desperation," Hades said quietly to the soul, "to simply ask for some food instead? I happen to know that the man you tried to kill would have gladly shared with you."

"How was I to know that?" the soul wailed. "No one gives anythin' freely to a prole! Rats we are! Rats they all call us! Can't own land, can't vote, we're worthless to them 'sides poppin' out more of us to keep up their numbers. None of them have ever—"

"Enough!" snapped Hades, and even Persephone flinched from the sharpness of his tone. "If selfless generosity is so unbelievable to you, then fine. But there were still other ways to get what you needed."

"Like what?"

"Like indentured servitude. You could've offered him your services for a time in exchange for food and shelter. This too, he would have given you had you but asked."

"Yes, I… I could have done that. You're right," said the soul, though Persephone got the feeling his hasty agreement had more to do with her love's thinning patience than actual belief in his words. "Please forgive a worthless person such as me! I was not thinkin' clearly, I was so overcome!"

"Death should always be the absolute last option," the lord of the Underworld told him.

"You're right. Of course you're right! Never again!" The soul had stopped shaking mostly, and had gained enough confidence back to rise up to his knees. Persephone noticed that the rose bush had stopped its murderous mutterings.

Hades looked hard at the soul. "As you have agreed to take into consideration what I have said, I will do the same for you. However, before I make a decision on your punishment, there is a question you will answer for me."

"Of course, your greatness. Anything."

Persephone's love paused, and a chill swept over her so subtle that it took her a moment to realize it'd come from him.

"About the woman you stabbed," said Hades. "You knew she was off in the woods when you made your attack. You purposely took advantage of the time she was gone instead of waiting until she returned. I assume you did this to lessen your chance of getting caught, and because you did not wish to kill her."

"Is that your greatness' question?" inquired the soul.

"No. My question is this: If you had succeeded in killing the man as you planned to, what would you have done with the woman once she returned?"

'Raped her.'

His answer whispered through the air even though the man had not parted his lips so much as an inch. Persephone stifled a gasp. There were no secrets in the Underworld—no mortal secrets anyway—and she knew Hades had heard the man's mind speak the truth just as she had. By the man's terrified expression, he knew it too.

"No!" he cried, "That's no' right! I didn' mean that! I never would have hurt 'er. I never would have—"

But Hades was through with listening. "I have heard your answer and made my decision. You will be condemned to Tartarus for the next three hundred years. If, by the end of that time, you have learned true remorse for what you have done, I will consider a new judgment. Until that time however—"

"No! No, no, no—" the cries of denial from the condemned soul drowned out the rest of what Hades was going to say.

The lord of the Underworld shook his head, and with flick of his hand, two creatures appeared. Persephone would have called them men—as their overall form resembled that of two giant humans—but their skin was gray and covered in cracks, as if made from pieces of broken stone, and deep within each crack something hot glowed. Smoke curled from their nostrils with each exhale, and a pair of dark blunt horns adorned the head of each. Their eyes were completely black. Persephone would've thought them blind, but they caught sight of the condemned man's soul easy enough. His legs buckled, and though he never stopped yelling as they hauled him up and took him away, he didn't attempt to fight.

When the last of his screams had faded, Persephone looked back at Hades. Gone was the anger, replaced with soul deep disappointment. His strong shoulders were hunched as if under too much weight and his face was buried deep in his hands. Waves of sadness rolled off him so great it brought tears to her eyes.

Persephone came out from behind the rose bush, purposely stepping down on a fallen twig so he would hear her and look up. "Persephone?" His sadness switched to confusion, making her feel slightly dizzy. "What are you doing here?"

Looking into his tear-stained face, feeling his pain, wiped out all her brave intentions of getting to the bottom of what her love was hiding. Hades needed her comfort right now. This was not the time or the place to force a confrontation.

She walked over and hugged him. After a surprised pause, he wrapped his arms wrapped around her.

"I thought you might need me," she said.

"Always," was his answer. "But how did you know where I was?"

"When you didn't show up for dinner I decided to come look for you. I felt your anger all the way out in the Elysian Fields."

Her words seemed to remind him how freely he'd let his emotions go. Like a wave suddenly retreating into the sea, he pulled them all back. The anger and pain immediately vanished.

"Don't," said Persephone, reaching up to cup his cheek. "It's alright. Really. I can handle it. You shouldn't hold yourself back so much. It's not good for you."

"But it hurts you," whispered Hades.

"Only because I don't like you feeling so unhappy. I hurt for you, my love."

Hades took her hand and brushed his lips over her palm, making Persephone shiver. "I love you so much."

Persephone twined their fingers together and pulled his hand down to kiss the back of it. "I love you too. Now let go. Let me feel what you feel."

Hades smiled warily down at her.

"It's okay," she said. "I want you to share it with me."

Slowly, his smile faded, his gaze becoming serious. He was going to do as she asked. Persephone prepared herself as best she could, not letting her determination falter even a second for fear he'd pull back.

There was no warning before his emotion slammed into her. It was so intense, it made her gasp and took her a minute to realize that it wasn't pain or anger she was feeling this time: It was love. So much love her immortal heart could barely stand it. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her body shook with want and awe. "Hades…"

Her love swept her up into his arms, burying his face into her hair. "This is what I feel, Persephone. Every time I see you. Even at the very gates of hell."

Persephone could barely think, much less form a suitable response to that. This wasn't what she had meant and he knew it, but she could hardly scold him with such incredible feelings coursing through her heart.

She pulled away enough to find his lips, and then they were kissing and he was carrying her through the leafless woods back to the Elysian Fields. When they got there, he laid her down and undressed her slowly, lovingly. Even the most energetic of the young spirits had succumbed to the peace of the night, flitting off to their places of rest, and Hades and Persephone replaced their innocent music with the sounds of quiet passion, making love in the grass among the fireflies until dawn.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Kate's fever started around midnight. Crispinus inspected her wound again, but it was such a mess he couldn't tell if it was the beginnings of infection or just the result of his lousy doctoring. He was uneasy, and wanted to go find help right then, but the night trapped him as surely as a locked chamber at the coliseum.

He set out at the first light of dawn, the reins of Kate's horse tied to his saddle's pommel. The sky was as clear and sunny as the day before, but the gentle breeze was absent. It gave the world a hushed quality, as if the very wind held its breath, wondering… hoping… for her.

Kate was nestled securely in front of him. No matter how jarring the horse's gait she wouldn't wake—at least not enough to do more than moan and whimper. Every so often, she squirmed uneasily in his lap, spooking the horses and forcing him to slow lest they both be thrown, but for the majority of the time she laid there, looking so infinitely fragile. It broke his heart to see her beautiful face beaded with sweat, twisted in a silent agony she could feel even in sleep.

It was well past noon when Crispinus topped the crest of a hill and spotted the first country villa he'd seen all day. A sprawling complex of white marble, it was two stories tall with three courtyards and what he was sure was a well-kept garden in the back.

Hope lit inside Crispinus' chest like a flame as he rode closer, but logic kept him from letting it burn too bright. Just because he'd found a place did not mean he would be admitted. Most patricians did not take kindly to strangers showing up on their back stoop. Especially dirty, armed, wild-eyed strangers such as he. The odds were they'd send him away, if not try to skewer him for his audacity. But he had to risk it. For Kate's sake.

Crispinus galloped right up to the front entrance and dismounted with Kate in his arms. She squirmed a little from the jolt of it, emitting a short, warbling cry that made him cradle her closer. He whispered soothingly and brushed a kiss against the shell of her ear. Whoever lived here had to help them. He would force them by blade point if he had to. Whether or not Kate had the strength to last until he found somewhere else, he didn't have the strength to bear the sight of her pain any longer. He wanted her healed, or at the very least, not looking so close to leaving him for the Elysian Fields.

He barely reached the first step when the front doors blew open and a woman rushed out, her ivory robes swirling around her sandaled feet so viciously it was a wonder she didn't trip. The wind reappeared, rushing up and blowing her mass of red hair into such disarray that the long locks looked like sentient fire blazing over her shoulders and down her back. Her face was a mask of fear, and Crispin stopped, tensing, thinking for sure she was fleeing from someone. But she stopped short and made a panicky gesture at Kate with her hands.

"Inside. Hurry!"

Her distress was all for Kate? Shock at such an immediate understanding and willingness to help had Crispinus fumbling. "How did you know—"

The woman waved the question away. "I saw you. Now come!"

Saw him? He glanced up at all the numerous windows of the villa. Her eyesight must be exceptional, to take in so much from so far away.

The woman was already hurrying back inside. When she reached the doorway and noticed he wasn't behind her, she glared at him and snapped, "Hurry, gladiator!"

Crispinus jumped at the brisk command and hurried inside.

Kate was burning. When Crispin had pressed that hot blade to her flesh, something inside had caught flame, and now it was consuming her, bit by bit. She could hear his voice, hear him trying to calm her, but no amount of soft words could distract her from the fire eating her alive. Didn't he see it? She was engulfed in it. Why wouldn't he put it out?

The breeze made by Crispin's rapid stride planted butterfly kisses on her fevered cheeks and forehead. She didn't have the strength to open her eyes and see where they were, and the sudden change in location only confused her feverish brain more. He was carrying her through someplace that echoed. When had they left the forest? Were they in another temple? Another Roman mansion?

A door creaked and his pace slowed. She was lowered onto something soft—a mattress?—and as she sunk into it Crispin's arms disappeared.

No, please don't leave me! she wanted to cry. Not now! Please! But the words wouldn't come.

She reached for him and fire roared through her veins. Her body spasmed into an arch she couldn't control, forcing her eyes open for the first time in hours to see Crispin being herded out of the room by the very woman who had started all of this.

No!

Suddenly pain wasn't the only thing Kate was being consumed by. Where had this she-witch come from and why wasn't Crispin fighting her? She was taking away the one good thing Kate had left. God, she hated her. Hated her so much. Why did she keep messing with her like this? If Kate could only move, if the pain would ease even a little she could… she would…

The door shut and her tour guide into this hell turned to face her. Her solemn expression made her beautiful features look harder, sharper, like glass.

She came over, and with those long, pale hands, reached out to touch. Kate jerked away and the burning agony ripped through her body, punishing her for the movement. It was too strong this time, too intense. The pain gave a vicious yank and pulled her under.

The mortal slipped once more out of consciousness. A mercy, truly. Aphrodite leaned closer to get a better look at the wound. Yellow-white puss oozed from the blackened skin. The sweet smell of infection and burned flesh twisted inside her nostrils and made her want to retch. As the goddess of Love, she was unused to dealing with such gore. But Persephone and Hades weren't answering her summons and there wasn't time to find anyone else.

It was up to her.

Out in the hall, she could hear the gladiator pacing. Every few seconds, he would pause in front of the door, as if debating coming back inside. With a flick of power, she turned the lock. Better that he stayed out of her way and unable to see what she was about to do.

When Aphrodite had taken a break from lovemaking with her newly acquired harem that morning to pull out her mirror and check in on the gladiator, she'd known instantly that something was wrong. The gladiator had been riding as if trying to escape Cerberus himself, the mortal curled in his lap, barely conscious.

As fast as she could, she'd mapped out his route, then used her powers to construct this tangible illusion of a villa for him to find, praying he'd arrive before it was too late. The Fates were known for a lot of things, but mercy wasn't one of them. If they cut the mortal's soul free before she could get to her, not even a goddess could call it back.

She leaned close and allowed her powers of healing to flow into the damaged body. Muscle reknitted, blood rushed back into its proper flow. Slowly, slowly, the mortal's heartbeat steadied. Her short, pained breaths evening out into a smoother rhythm.

When the danger of death was gone, Aphrodite turned her attention to the surface of the wound. She could wipe it away with a sweep of power, but it would be impossible to explain its disappearance without revealing herself—something she was loath to do. She hated trying to answer all the questions that mortals always peppered her with once the secret was out. It was never enough for them to just accept things. No, they wanted explanations. Honestly, it was one of the more annoying things about their kind. Why did you do this? Why did you do that? And even worse: How did you do it? She had the utmost sympathy to any god or goddess who got trapped trying to explain their powers to a mortal. It was torture to be avoided at all costs.

Still, this wound was too horrible to leave alone entirely.

Deciding to compromise, she vanished the infection and healed the skin enough so that it wouldn't rip back open if jostled. The black pieces of burnt flesh flaked off and floated away like ash, leaving the beginnings of shiny pink scar tissue behind. There. Clean and healing, but still nothing so drastic that there would be cause to wonder.

With a push of power, she unlocked the door.

"You may come in now," she called. The gladiator was at her side by the word 'in.'

"Is she…?"

"She'll be fine." Aphrodite smeared a natural ointment over the wound and covered it with soft cotton cloth.

Big hands shook as they reached out, but the gladiator pulled back at the last moment and rubbed his face instead. "I thought for sure…"

"What happened?" Now that the danger had passed, Aphrodite couldn't contain her curiosity.

There was no reproach in her voice, but the man flinched anyway. "Some bastard attacked me in the woods. Kate… Kate jumped between us and was…" A spasm of pain crossed his face at the unwanted memory and he didn't go on. It was fine though, she understood enough.

Changing topics to something he'd find more agreeable she said, "You seem quite close to her."

"Not close enough."

Well that was an odd response.

"So is this a romantic getaway then? A lover's retreat?"

He jerked and looked at her. She couldn't read his expression. "No. Family trouble. Kate…"

"Wouldn't leave you?" she teased.

To her surprise, the gladiator scowled. "No. I wouldn't let her leave me." He stepped around her and grabbed a light blanket from the foot of the bed, unwrapping it and laying it gently over his soul mate's still form.

"You mean she didn't want to come?" The goddess of Love could hardly believe that.

"Maybe she did. I don't know."

"Well, didn't you ask her?" Now the reproach was in her voice. Why was he being so vague?

"I can hardly do that," the gladiator spat, "when she doesn't speak Latin. Or any damn language that I recognize."

"Oh dear." Aphrodite hadn't thought of that. She'd been so focused about getting the mortal to him she hadn't spared the time to wonder… "Well, that'll have to be remedied, won't it?" she whispered, too quiet for the gladiator to hear.

Under the pretense of stroking the mortal's brow, she whispered the words that would lower the language barrier a great deal. When she was done, she straightened. "Your woman needs to rest. I'll find you something to eat while you wait."

She left just as Kate began to stir. Drowsy eyes found Crispinus'. When Kate reached out to him, he was there immediately to take her hand.

"You're going to be okay," he said.

His tone was soothing; she should've been reassured by it. But she frowned even as she fought to keep her eyes open. "What did… you say?"

Crispinus' heart, which had just started to settle from his scare over her injury, flipped and started to race again at her words. "Kate, you're speaking Latin."

She shook her head. It was more of a tired, rubbing action against the pillows. Her eyes slipped shut. "'mpossible. Don't speak… Latin…"

Even his joyous laughing couldn't keep her awake. She slipped off again, but into a more natural sleep this time. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"What happened?" Their savior was back in the doorway. In her hand was a silver tray heaped with fresh fruits, bread, and even some still-smoking meat. To Crispinus' embarrassment, his stomach rumbled.

"Kate, she… she's speaking Latin now," he explained, coming over at the woman's gesture to take the tray. "But I don't understand… so suddenly…"

"Maybe she had amnesia or something," she suggested, not looking at all worried. "Repressing things after a traumatic experience is not uncommon. Nor is getting them back. Come. You must be tired after such an ordeal. There's a room down the hall you may rest in."

"But Kate—"

"Needs sleep." Her tone was adamant. "I promise to wake you if she rises."

Having no reasonable argument left to stay, he let her lead him from the room. Outside, the day was bright. Kate's bedroom was located in an open hallway, the right wall made up of widely spaced columns, revealing a small peristylium open to the sky. Flowers had been artfully arranged around a pair of facing benches. It was the perfect place to sit with one's lover and talk about things. Silly things, or secret things…

"If Kate had amnesia, why would she suddenly remember?" Crispinus asked.

The woman shrugged. "Maybe the intense pain and fever from her injury brought her memory back. You should just be grateful."

Yes, grateful. He certainly was that. And uneasy. He'd been too terrified over losing Kate to notice before, but there was something familiar about this woman in front of him, something that put him on edge.

She ducked under a rose vine that hid another hallway. The flowers were the same deep red as her hair and lips. She was so beautiful it was almost obscene. He couldn't imagine forgetting someone so distinctive, but—

She turned and caught him scrutinizing her. Instead of telling him off, or worse, coming on to him, she gave him a single teasing wink and kept walking. The overdramatic sway of her hips…

Recognition struck him so hard he stumbled. Dear gods, here was another one! He remembered bedding this woman not too long ago at the Colosseum. He should've known; where else would he have met her?

Immediately, he wanted to go back and check on Kate, convinced that this woman had tricked him in some way, hurt Kate when he hadn't been looking. By Hades, he'd left Kate alone with her! Would he never learn?

But no, Kate was fine. He'd seen how steady her breathing was, how clean the wound had been. He'd talked to her; she was fine. Fine.

He forced himself to keep walking.

They entered another bedroom. Pretty but bare. A white tiled floor, cream stone walls and a giant window overlooking the grounds. The bed was the most colorful thing. Dark blue sheets that must have cost a small fortune to dye stretched over a mattress as soft-looking as Kate's.

His former lover—the term made his gut twist—gestured to a side table for him to put his tray. Crispinus did so warily, unsure now of her intentions. She looked amused by his sudden caution.

"Rest easy," she told him. "I promise, I bear neither you nor your woman any ill will. It makes me happier than you know to see the two of you together." She smiled. "You deserve to be happy, Crispinus Agallon."

He not only heard her sincerity, he felt it. As if her words made his very heart warm with gratitude and joy.

Almost again his will, his panic eased. "Thank you."

She nodded and left him to his meal.

When Aphrodite came back an hour later to check on him, it was to find his room empty and the mortal's bed now occupied by two. They were both fast asleep. The gladiator had made sure to stay on his own side of the mattress, mindful of his soulmate's condition. Her right hand was caught between both his own just inches from his lips, as if he'd fallen asleep while pressing a kiss to it.

The sight caused an odd pang in the goddess of Love's heart, and she returned to Mount Olympus hungry for something she couldn't name.

No, that wasn't quite true. As the goddess of Love, she knew what was causing such discomfort—hearts never lie, after all—but it grated because it wasn't something she had the power to just summon up for herself, much as she might want to.

In the dim interior of her bedroom, she took in all the men draped over her bed and settee like discarded clothes. More were sprawled across the fur-covered floor. Every so often, one would yawn, another would stretch. It was like a den full of male lions, satiated to the point of being comatose.

Instead of feeling her usual pride at managing such a feat, she felt only dissatisfied.

"Time to go," she whispered.

One by one, she sent them home. The few who were conscious enough to notice her presence gave her desirous looks before she sent them off. A few even reached for her—as if they could actually satisfy her in such a state. Ha! She ignored the looks, pushed away the hands, and soon all that was left were the three occupying her bed. She vanished the first, and then the second, but paused at the third.

He was not asleep, nor were his eyes glazed over with lust like the others. His expression was solemn as he watched her.

"You're sending us back now," he said.

She nodded. "Yes."

"I will miss you."

She ran a hand up his heavily scarred arm. She had been pleasantly surprised to find she'd snagged a gladiator that night at the party, retired or not. "I'm sure you'll find another woman to satisfy you easily enough," she said.

"Perhaps. But doubtful they'll be as funny as you."

Funny? But then she remembered she had told some jokes while they'd been enjoying each other, hadn't she? During the slower moments. Many of the men had laughed, but none of them had really been listening. Their minds had only been focused on one thing: getting more of her.

Still, she gave the gladiator credit, he remembered enough to try and use it to charm her into letting him stay.

"You thought my jokes were funny?"

His smile was boyish. "Funny enough that when I tell others, I fully intend to claim them as my own."

She laughed at that. Oh yes, he was a very charming liar.

"What is your name, gladiator?" she asked.

"Scipio."

"Which joke of mine was you're favorite, Scipio?"

His smiled faded as he pretended to think about it. Aphrodite waited, tracing the more noticeable white lines on his arm with her fingertip. Here he would be forced admit to trying to trick her, and she could send him on his way. It was mean of her not to play along better, perhaps, but she was tired and didn't feel like accepting false compliments today.

"Mmmm, the one about the rabbit and the snake was pretty funny," he said finally, and Aphrodite stilled. "But the one about the sirens was funnier, I think." He chuckled, as if even the memory was humorous.

She stared down at him. "You—you really do remember?"

"Of course." His tone warm but chiding.

She looked at the sheets wrapped like desperate arms around his torso, revealing a chest etched with scar upon scar. She thought back to Crispinus' soulmate and the wound that would one day look like a small version of this. How many injuries like that had he suffered, to look as he did now? How much pain had he gone through, and dealt, to lie in her bed today? And how much strength, to still smile so easily while he did so?

She let go of his arm and lifted the covers. Scipio watched her as she got in next to him. He didn't reach for, didn't do anything but wait.

"You know," she said to him as she settled in, "the sirens were once the handmaidens of Persephone."

"They were?"

Such genuine interest warmed her heart. Aphrodite nodded. "When Persephone was taken by Hades, her mother, Demeter, gave the handmaidens the wings of birds so that they could fly around and find her daughter. But they eventually grew tired of searching and retired to the island of Anthemoessa to play with sailors instead."

"Play. They lure men to their deaths, and yet you use such a happy term."

"The men die happily," Aphrodite pointed out. Scipio shook his head, but his eyes twinkled.

She reached out, and though he didn't pull back, he looked wary as she traced the curve of his cheek. Scars were here too.

"Are you going to send me back now?" he asked.

Aphrodite thought about it. After a moment, she smiled and cuddled up to him. "Maybe tomorrow."

He relaxed and gathered her close. His arms stayed innocently wrapped around her waist, but in a tight enough hold that she could feel his attempt at possession. Aphrodite liked the dichotomy.

The goddess of Love slept.

It was one thing to find yourself stranded back in time, another thing entirely to wake up fluent in a language you've never spoken more than two sentences in before. To say it was unnerving didn't cut it. Was it possible to lose your mind and somehow gain knowledge?

At least insanity came with a good room, thought Kate. Everything was clean and the smell of roses and honey permeated the air. There was a window looking out over a field where two familiar horses were grazing. A vanity sat in the far corner, with a mirror that was not quite right. The edges looked like glass but it seemed covered in a layer of metal, or maybe it was shiny lead. Hard to see from the angle. She was much more taken with the bed she was lying in anyway.

Really, it was nothing short of gorgeous. It was huge, and soft as any therapeutic mattress. The posts were made of wood and shaped like tree branches, interweaving above her in a beautiful facsimile of a real forest canopy. Green gauzy fabric she didn't have a name for hung down like the leaves of a weeping willow. It made Kate feel sheltered, hidden and safe. An illusion, but a nice one.

Behind her, Crispin shifted and she rolled over to find him up and watching her. Now wasn't this familiar. His voice was thick with sleep as a he said, "You're awake."

A tremor went through Kate. Definitely not English, and yet she knew.

"I shouldn't understand you," she said. The Latin rolled so naturally off her tongue, and that was not natural at all. "Crispin…"

"It's all right," he soothed, reaching out to stroke her cheek. "I'm sure it's shocking to have it all suddenly come back to you."

"Come back?"

He nodded, watching her closely. "Our convivator, the woman who saved you, thinks that you were suffering from amnesia. She says the shock of the… accident probably brought it all back." He cocked his head. "Is that truly what happened? You really did have… amnesia?"

Kate wasn't listening. Her mind was stuck on his first words. Our convivator. Hostess. Did he mean the redhead? Kate thought she'd just been hallucinating her due to fever. But apparently she'd really been here, really messed with her head. And why not? Kate thought bitterly. She'd been responsible for everything else that had happened to her, like sending her to here in the first place.

Wait a minute.

Kate shot upright, sucking in a breath when the action sent pain zinging through her injured collar. That woman hadn't just sent her to ancient Rome, she'd sent her to Crispin. She'd even said as much: "Keep up. We go to him."

We go to him.

Him.

Son of a bitch, how had she forgotten that? And the two of them had been talking. Just chatting away while she lay there, helpless and unknowing…

"That woman," Kate hissed. "Do you know her? Are you working together somehow? Answer me, Crispin. What does she have to do with you?"

The gladiator looked so upset she knew right away he was guilty. However, his confession was not what she'd expected.

"We used to be lovers."

Kate jerked back, but she barely felt the pain this time. "What?"

Crispin rose and reached up a placating hand. "It was only once, back when I was still a gladiator. It didn't mean anything and I promise you it will never happen again."

Kate felt her confusion and anger becoming tangled. What did he mean used to be a gladiator? And why, how, had he had a one-night stand with that, that—

"Don't you know who that woman is?" Kate exclaimed. "What she's done to me?"

Crispin was looking very distressed now. "What has she done?"

"She's—" Kate couldn't find the words. She gestured wildly. "She's… to me… and with you…"

Crispin caught her flailing hands and held them close; they fit so snug inside his own. His gaze was remorseful.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry, Kate. But the truth is, I've been with a lot of women, I'm not going to lie to you. And you have every right to be suspicious, after what Valencia did to you at the bath house."

Valencia? Was he talking about that bitch who'd tried to drown her? So Kate had been right! She had been the victim of a vengeful lover. Jeez, were all his old girlfriends this crazy? Did he have a type? And if he did, what did that say about her?

Crispin seemed to realize he'd lost her, because he gave her hands a squeeze, drawing her back and hooking her with the intensity of his gaze.

"I promise you," he said, "I will never let you suffer for my past mistakes again. I'll protect you. You're safe with me."

Kate wanted to both swoon and scream. "That's… sweet. But that's not what I—what I meant."

"What did you mean then, precious?"

The term of endearment killed what was left of her ire. He really didn't know. Whatever their connections, whatever her twisted tour guide's reasoning for doing this to her, Crispin had no part in it. He was too damn… good for something so underhanded.

She tugged one hand free to rub at her shoulder. She suddenly felt wrung out, tired even after having just woken up. "No, I—nevermind. I understand now. I'm sorry I jumped on you like that."

"You were more than justified."

She wasn't, but it was kind of him to say so. Trying to sound casual she said, "I'd still like to talk to her, though, our convivator. To thank her for letting us stay here. And for taking care of me."

Crispin smiled. "I'll go look for her then." He made to stand, but as his hand slipped from hers, she caught it and pulled him back.

"Before you go, though, I owe you a thank you, too."

"For what?"

The memory made her shudder. "I remember what you did, Crispin, after that man… well, after. I remember. I wouldn't have survived if you hadn't—"

"Stop," he said, voice going rough. "You owe me no thanks for that. I should've been on guard. If I was, you wouldn't have been hurt in the first place."

"I don't agree. But since I can see you're going to be stubborn about it, just let me thank you anyway. I know I didn't make it easy…"

"Don't feel guilty about that either," he told her.

"Then don't you feel guilty for taking a well-earned moment for yourself," she snapped.

That surprised him. He froze and stared at her, but though Kate felt her face reddening, she didn't look away. After a few seconds, the widest smile broke out across his face, surprising her. Almost shyly, he pressed a kiss to her fingertips.

"After this, we need to talk," he said.

She nodded, but he took her good mood with him when he left. If the language barrier did anything well, it was save her from having to answer any difficult questions about herself. Now she was going to have to make some serious decisions, and fast. Crispin believed she had amnesia. As far as excuses went, it was ridiculous, but then Ms. Let-me-ruin-your-life was responsible for that one too, so there was little she could do about it but play along. It wasn't like she had a better explanation anyway.

Kate started to let herself flop back onto her pillows, then remembered her injury and eased down instead. She poked at her bandage but didn't have the guts to peel it off and look at the damage. It was bad, but she would live, and that's all she could ask for.

Crispin returned twenty minutes later to tell her that their redheaded hostess couldn't be found. Kate wasn't surprised. The woman had done what she'd come to do and left, once again avoiding Kate's wrath. It was frustrating as hell, but this time she felt more resigned than anything.

Maybe she was just too tired.

Crispin had found no one else on the premises either, not even livestock, though there was food aplenty in the kitchen. Kate had been through too much to be unsettled by an empty house, but it unnerved the gladiator greatly. Several times she caught him muttering, "Doesn't make any sense. It just doesn't make any sense." To which she thought, Welcome to the club.

Since it was late in the afternoon, they decided that they would wait and leave the following morning. Kate kept up the pretense of exhaustion to avoid having to answer any questions—a pretense that wasn't entirely feigned. She was tired, and achy. Even healing as well at it was, her injury was still nasty.

At dawn, Crispin rose and returned with a small bowl of water, an even smaller bowl of what looked like paste, and some strips of cloth.

"What's that for?" she asked, though she thought she already knew.

"We should change your bandages before we leave. The sooner we get out of this place the better," he added in a mutter.

Kate reached up to grab at the clip holding her stolla together. "I can do it myself," she said.

She couldn't read his expression well. Bemusement, maybe.

"Why don't you want my help?" he asked.

"It's not that I don't want it, I just don't need it. I'm perfectly capable—"

"Raise your arm."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

Crispin set down his supplies next to her on the bed and crossed his arms. "You need to be able to lift you arm to get the bandages on and off. So raise it."

Knowing it was the only way to convince him, Kate did. She got high enough that her elbow was level with her shoulder before pain had her freezing up.

"That's not high enough," Crispin said.

"It-it is so," she whimpered, lowering her arm back down. Slowly.

He cocked his head at her. "Why don't you want me to help you?"

She looked down, feigning an interest in the bed sheet. "I already told you. It's not that I don't—"

"Kate."

She scowled, and to her horror she felt her cheeks heat. "It's just… I…"

Crispin tiled his head so he could see her face. His eyes widened and a wicked grin stretched from ear to ear. Lowering himself next to her on the bed, he dropped his voice to a husky whisper as he said, "It's a little late to be going shy on me, don't you think?"

She opened her mouth to yell at him, to deny it, but gave up before bothering to try. He was right and knew it anyways.

"It's just different, now that I can talk to you," she said.

"How so?" he asked. At least he'd lost his smirk.

Kate fought for a way to explain it. Even after all they'd been through together, suddenly being able to understand him was like finding a whole other side to his character that she had yet to meet, as if he had suddenly become half a stranger again.

"It's like, seeing a pen-pal for the first time," she said, perking up at the analogy. "I mean, we know each other, but there are still parts we can't understand until we're face-to-face. Or talking, in our case."

"A… pen pal?" The gladiator repeated the term as if it tasted slightly bitter. "What is that?"

"It's like a friend who lives far away from you. And you write letters to each other, back and forth, to keep in touch."

Crispin frowned, falling silent as he drew circles in the bowl of water with his finger. Kate watched the ripples, wondering if she'd said something wrong. Then he whispered, "Is that all I am to you, Kate? A friend?"

Kate ducked her head, face hot. "No," she whispered.

His hand found her chin and lifted. Brown eyes met blue before they closed and Crispin kissed her. It was chaste but clearly spoke of things far beyond a platonic relationship.

"I'm glad," he said, when he had pulled back. "I don't think I could stand just being your friend."

"Me either," she admitted.

He smiled and reached for the shoulder clip of her shoulder. "May I?" he asked.

She nodded. There may be things about him she still didn't know, parts of him yet to be revealed, but the inherent kindness of him hadn't changed. She needed to remember that.

The first brush of cool air against the wound stung. It was long, deep, and ugly just like she feared. She sighed. "It's going to scar something awful."

Crispin made a noise of agreement, reaching for more ointment. "But I will cherish it," he said.

Kate couldn't stop her incredulous laughter. "God, why?"

His gaze met hers, so solemn her laughter fell. "Because it's a mark of your courage and selflessness," he said softly. "You risked your life for mine. That you would do so for someone such as me… "

"Someone such as you? What's that supposed to mean? You're a great guy!"

Crispin smiled, and to her delight, flushed a little. "Thank you, Kate. You honor me."

Honor. Hardly. If anything, he was honoring her by sticking around like this.

And that's when Kate realized that she was going to have to change her mindset about whatever this thing was that was growing between her and Crispin. She could no longer pass it off as just some fling to be enjoyed until she figured out how to get home. It was disrespectful to Crispin and to his feelings, which she was starting to think ran much deeper than she'd first assumed. Perhaps even as deep as her own were rapidly sinking.

Fate have mercy on them both.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

"So I have to ask," said Kate. "Where are we going?"

Crispinus's horse was a bit ahead of hers. He hoped it was enough distance that she couldn't see his guilty grimace. He'd been in such a hurry to go that morning after finishing taking care of her injury that he'd forgotten to stop and explain himself now that he could, and he had a lot that he needed to explain.

They were almost half a mile away from the country villa, riding over the same hill where Crispinus had first spotted the grand building. As they reached the top, he glanced back to get one last look, but found there was nothing there to see. The morning was clear and bright without even a wisp of fog to cloud the landscape. There was no reason why the villa shouldn't be visible, but it wasn't.

A shiver went up his spine and Crispinus had the unsettling feeling that if he turned around right now and went back, the building wouldn't be there, that he would find it had truly vanished, just like its mysterious mistress.

No, he thought, urging his horse onward and back into the copse of trees hiding the main trail, there was a logical explanation for that. She must have been staying there alone—though the gods knew why a young woman would be left without family or servants in such an isolated place—and for whatever reason she had decided to leave after helping them. She hadn't vanished, and neither had the building. It was simply glare from the sun or some other more reasonable thing. Worry about his family was making him paranoid, that was all.

Which reminded him that Kate was still waiting patiently for an explanation.

Crispinus slowed his horse so that they were riding side by side. The path through the woods was poorly maintained and narrow, but he wanted to stay close to Kate anyway, so it suited his purposes well enough.

If the swaying gate of the horse bothered Kate's injury, she wasn't showing it. Or maybe she was. It was hard to tell if her tight hold on the reins and grim set to her mouth was from pain or fear at being astride the big equine again.

"My former master, Cato, has sent some of his gladiators to retrieve me from my family's farm, where he thinks I'm living now," Crispinus told her, deciding to jump right into it. "They've most likely come and gone by this time, but I need to make sure my brother and sister-in-law are okay before I go deal with him."

Kate looked horrified. "You don't think they've been hurt, do you?"

"From what I've been told, no. But I won't rest easy until I see for myself. Cato is not a man to be trusted."

"Why is he after you?"

Crispinus scowled. "Because he is angry that I took my freedom. I was good at what I did and I made him a very wealthy man. He was not happy to lose such a great source of income."

"Does he really just expect you to stay if he brings you back? Isn't that illegal? If you were freed—"

"He is trying to frame me for theft. If I am charged as guilty, I can legally be re-enslaved to him to do with as he pleases."

"That's terrible! What does he think you stole from him?" Her tone made it clear such an idea was ridiculous. That Kate automatically assumed he was innocent made Crispinus so happy he wanted to drag her from her horse and kiss her senseless.

"Actually," he admitted, "it's nothing I took from him. It's something I took from you."

She frowned. "You haven't taken anything from me."

The good feeling her faith in his morality had brought him, dimmed. Crispinus smiled sadly at her and leaned in close, whispering, "Does that mean you gave me that jewelry out of the goodness of your heart then?"

Kate's whole body went stiff. Her horse could feel it and tossed its head in agitation.

Crispinus straightened away from her. "I'm sorry about what I did that day," he said quietly. "I was angry, and thought you were a bored patrician come to play hard to get. I never meant to hurt you, or scare you into giving me something so valuable to you."

"It wasn't."

"What wasn't... what?"

"It wasn't valuable to me," she said, practically biting out the words. "I hated that thing and was glad to be rid of it. Honestly. And I've already forgiven you for kissing me then, but I appreciate the apology all the same." She shook her head hard, as if clearing it of whatever dark thoughts were bothering her, moving on, she asked, "So, how did you end up getting blamed for thievery? And how did you quit being a gladiator in the first place? If this Cato is as bad as he seems, I'm surprised he let you go at all."

"Ah, well… he didn't have much of a choice," Crispinus said, still somewhat taken aback at the ease with which Kate had just forgiven him and the pain he'd seen when she'd talked about the jewelry. Perhaps she didn't care that it was gone, but it had been far from insignificant to her.

He would have to find out why later.

Continuing his story, he said, "By the time I realized my mistake about who you were, you were gone. Since I didn't know how to return what you had given me, I decided to use it to pay off Cato and claim my freedom. I had worked much more than the required three years, and paid more than my fair share, too, in both blood and money. I offered Cato the necklace as final payment."

"Just the necklace?"

"Yes." Knowing what she was confused by, he clarified, "I kept the earrings. But I traded one this morning for these horses. I still have the other, if you would like it back."

"No." Her tone was curt and she seemed to realize it. She shot him a tight, apologetic smile. "It's okay. You can keep it."

"If you are sure..."

"I am."

He nodded.

"So you gave the necklace to Cato," Kate summarized, bringing them back to the topic. "And he freed you?"

"Actually, he tried to refuse my offer and keep the necklace."

"That greedy bastard!"

Crispinus laughed, having called Cato that himself quite a number of times over the years. "Yes. And as I'm sure you understand, I was furious, and took my freedom by, ah, force, instead. It's not the most official way, but at that point I didn't care. I left, found you—"

"Rescued me, you mean," Kate corrected, although her voice went soft and shy as she said it. Crispinus met her gaze and was startled by the blush that stained her cheeks. He again had the urge to haul her close and take her lips with his own. Of course, that brought to mind other, more carnal urges, such as laying Kate down and making love to her in the grass while it was still cool and damp with dew. The morning sun would cast dappled shadows over her skin as it peeked through the trees to watch them, and they could make a game out of finding pictures in the shapes the shadows cast over her flesh...

"Yes." The word came out rough. Crispinus cleared his throat and looked away, knowing Kate had seen the hunger in his eyes and wondering what she thought of it. Not that it mattered. He had to remember that she was injured, and they had to hurry and make sure his family didn't need help. Such sweet indulgence would have to wait, though he reassured himself that it wouldn't be long.

"So why does this Cato think you stole the necklace?" Kate sounded a bit breathless herself, but she was trying hard to push on normally. Crispinus admired her for that strength, even as he wanted to see it weaken, and then fall. It was clear that between the two of them, he was more spoiled when it came to giving in to urges of lust. Eventually he wanted Kate to be the same way, but just for him, only him.

"That guard you met—Aleron. I ran into him that night at the party, and he as good as admitted he told Cato I stole it," Crispinus said. "That was all Cato needed to justify sending men after me. He thinks if he can just get me in the Colosseum again that means he has me." Anger coiled tight in his gut at such presumption, turning his more pleasurable thoughts cold. "He is mistaken though."

"So once we make sure you're brother and... sister-in-law, are okay, then what?"

He thought at first she was asking about what was going to happen with them, possibilities he was only too happy to discuss with her. So far, all his ideas started with marriage and ended with them old and gray together somewhere, maybe near the shore. He wasn't picky about the where, or what they did in the interim, though he had some nice suggestions, most of which would bring back that enchanting blush of hers.

But no, he realized as he took in her expression, that's not what Kate was referring to. She wanted to know how he was going to handle Cato, a much less enjoyable topic.

"I don't want to discuss that right now," he said. "I'd rather talk about you instead."

The only word for the expression that overcame Kate's face then was 'resigned.'

She sighed. "What do you want to know?"

Crispinus didn't know why she was so hesitant to talk about herself, but doing so was more necessary than ever now that they had left the city together. Plus, he could admit that he was curious about her. How could he not be?

He decided to have pity on her, though, and began with something easy. "Perhaps you could start by explaining to me why you didn't know how to ride a horse."

Kate looked affronted. "I thought I was doing pretty damn good, considering."

"You are. But you should've known how already."

"Says who?" She gave the beast below her a resentful glance. "Where I come from, we don't ride horses very much anymore. At least not for anything but sport."

"How do you get around then?"

"In things called vehicles. Cars, trucks, buses. I guess you could say they're like chariots, only no horses to drive them."

He'd never heard of such a thing. "If there are no horses then how do you steer? How do you make it keep going forward? Does someone push them?"

Kate laughed. "No. They have things called engines that make them run. And don't ask me how they work. I can change my oil and fix a flat tire, but that's the extent of my knowledge."

Crispinus didn't know what oil had to do with it, or what a tire was, but he didn't care enough to push it. Instead, he jumped to something he was far more interested in. "Tell me about you're family."

He could almost feel her emotions retreating. It was like a warm tide being pulled back out to sea, leaving his body wet and cold in the gritty sand. The change was so dramatic he actually felt his skin break out in gooseflesh. This went beyond normal hesitancy. This kind of reaction—Kate had been hurt by something. Badly. Though Crispinus was dying to know more, he knew pushing her now would do nothing but alienate her.

"It's okay," he said, giving up when she still hadn't answered after several minutes. "If it's truly too hard for you to speak about right now then can discuss something else." But they would come back to it later when she felt more comfortable. They had to.

She nodded, her face relaxing with open gratitude. Her voice actually cracked as she said, "Thank you."

He cast about for an easier question. "How did you wind up in the Colosseum?"

Kate gave an incredulous laugh that was a bit too high-pitched and spooked her horse. It danced sideways and Crispinus had to reach over and grab the reins to tug it back, at the same time catching Kate by her good arm with his other hand before she slipped off her saddle.

"Now that was an odd reaction to get from you," he said when both were steady enough to let go. It was easy enough to release the reins, not so easy to release the woman. His hand lingered, fingers trailing over soft skin unmarked except for the occasional freckle.

Kate shivered and looked at him. "You're making it really hard to ride this horse, you know."

"How do you think I feel?" he said, but let his hand fall. Kate laughed again. It sounded more normal this time.

"So tell me what is wrong with this question," he said.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Nothing. It's just… also hard to answer. Actually, it might even be a worse question."

"How so? I already know you must have snuck in, though damned if I can figure out how you got into my locked chambers." He gave her a hard look, reevaluating all the theories about her that he had come up with over the past few days. They seemed even more unrealistic now that he knew more about her. "I know you weren't trying to see me," he said.

"Well, no…" She seemed to struggle to find the words. "I guess you could say I was sent there."

"Sent? By who? Why?"

"I'm still trying to figure out the why. The who, too."

"You don't know who sent you there?"

"Not hardly," Kate said darkly.

"Then why did you go?"

"I didn't have a choice."

"You were forced there? How?"

"I don't know!" she said. "One minute I'm minding my own business, the next—bam—there I am."

"I hardly think it was that instantaneous," Crispinus drawled.

"Almost."

"Why can't you just tell me honestly?"

Kate made a sound of frustration in her throat. "I'm trying to! It's just hard trying to explain it in a way you'll understand." In a mutter he heard her add, "Or believe."

Crispinus pulled back sharply on his horse's reins, brining it to a sudden halt and forcing Kate's horse to stop too. "Was that a slight against my intelligence?" He tried to stifle his hurt, and the anger that wanted to come with it.

Kate's eyes went wide. "What? No! Not at all!" She waved her arms for emphasis. It made her horse shy and she was forced to stop and grab onto its mane to keep from falling off. She winced as it jostled her injury. "You're very smart. And kind. And brave, and handsome…"

The compliments, given so easily and sincerely, soothed his disgruntlement. She really thought all that about him? Crispinus sat a little straighter in his saddle, puffing out his chest so that that sun caught on his armor and made it gleam. "And?" he asked. Go on.

She gave him a knowing look, lips twitching. "And I think you get the idea," she said wryly.

That made him deflate some. "No, not at all."

Kate also looked disconsolate. She let one hand slid through her horse's long wiry hair to the shorter, smoother coat of its neck. Her motions were slow and gentle, as if she had all the time in the world and wasn't concerned about anything. But her jaw was tight, and her eyes narrowed. "It's just… my home is a bit more… advanced, than yours," she said.

"Impossible."

She stopped petting her horse and looked at him. He thought she would get defensive about it, but her expression said his outburst was no more than she'd expected. He didn't like being so predictable, especially in such a negative way.

Kate shrugged, as if she was not only unsurprised, but didn't much care. The watery sheen in her eyes gave her away though. "It's true."

Crispinus felt horrible not believing her, but really! "Rome is the most advanced empire that there is!" Was it just pride in her homeland that made her believe otherwise?

But no, because after a moment she nodded as if conceding the point, saying, "That's… also true."

"Both can't be true!"

"They are."

"You are speaking in riddles."

"Not on purpose."

"Than just explain yourself clearly!" Crispinus exclaimed, fully exasperated now.

Kate smiled, but there was little humor in it. "It's not that easy."

Crispinus nudged his horse back into a walk, needing to move on before he lost his patience completely. Kate followed behind, the silence stretching between them like a lead rope. The soft clip-clop of hooves against the ground was soothing, at least, the peaceful rhythm broken only by the occasionally spatter of birdsong above them. Crispinus had thought that once they could talk to each other, misunderstandings would no longer be an issue. But if anything, there were even more of them now. Was Kate purposely making this more difficult? He couldn't imagine her reason for doing so, but then it seemed there were a lot of things he couldn't imagine today.

Kate's horse was dragging it feet, but Kate didn't care. Crispin seemed fed-up with her for the moment, so the more space she gave him, the better. She knew she was making a big mess of this. She didn't dare come right out and tell the gladiator she was from the future. At best, he would think she was mentally ill, and at worst… She shuddered as she envisioned him tying her up to a stake and grabbing a torch. Okay, so this was pre-witch burning time, but that didn't mean they didn't have an equivalent to that here. Even if he just left her—there would go her protection, her food, her shelter, and the safe haven for all those softer, foolish emotions that she had started handing over to him. If Crispin suddenly cast them out into the elements, cast her out… She couldn't risk it. But trying to talk about herself and not mention the small little detail that, oh yeah, she was from the future, was difficult to say the least. And avoiding the issue seemed to be widening the distance between them when it should have been decreasing it. Plus, she was hurting Crispin, which was the worst thing of all.

Kate took a breath and tried, again, to explain. "Where I'm from… it's almost impossibly far away."

Crispin didn't turn around, or give any indication that he'd heard her. She thought he was going to ignore her. But after a moment he answered back stiffly, "I have traveled all over the Roman Empire."

She choked back a sigh of frustration. Why did he have to word everything as if she doubted him? First his intelligence, now his travel experience. Couldn't he see it wasn't about that? Some things were simply beyond human understanding, no matter how great a person's brainpower or life experience. Some things, if not witnessed by oneself, just couldn't be believed, and Kate didn't think she was wrong to say that time travel was one of those things. No matter how much Crispin might be coming to care for her, he wouldn't accept that she came from the year 2011, not without proof she didn't have. If their positions had been reversed it would've been the same way. If he'd come to her world in the future, waving his sword around and calling himself a gladiator, Kate would've sicced the authorities on him faster than you could say, 'Et tu, Brute?' It's just how it was, and because of that, she had to be cautious about what she revealed. No matter how much he might want her to spill her guts about everything, and no matter how much she herself might want to do the same thing, it would only ruin what they had—which, while Kate was hesitant to put a name to yet, was definitely something she didn't want to see get destroyed because of a few foolish words on her part.

Still, maybe she did need to handle his ego with a bit more care.

"I'm sure you've traveled to a lot of places. Great places," she said. "But my home is still farther."

"The Empire stretches almost two million square miles. Do you mean to say you are from father than that?"

She winced. Luckily, he couldn't see. "Yes. Much farther."

Another long stretch of silence. Kate was about to give up when he said, "That is far indeed, then. But still not impossible." His tone remained grumpy, but at least he was trying.

Kate smiled. "That's why I said 'almost.'"

Crispin made a noncommittal noise and let the subject drop, but Kate knew he would pick it back up again soon. He wouldn't be able to help himself.

Kate just hoped curiosity wouldn't kill the time-traveler.

Valencia relaxed back on the cushions of her litter. Through the gauzy cloth shielding her from the worst of the day's heat and the nosier pedestrians who watched her pass, she admired the flexing muscles of the four men who carried her through the busy city streets. A day of dice at the gambling hall had put her in a much better mood than the one she'd been stewing in since the night of the party. Spending her hours decimating the money pockets of several arrogant men who insisted on underestimating her just because she was a woman was a delicious pleasure, a savage thrill. Today she'd been one toss away in Ludus Alae from winning the property rights to Fabius Fusus' ancestral home, and all the gold that came with it. Unfortunately, he'd turned coward at the last moment and quit the game. She would have turned him in for cheating, but then gambling wasn't exactly a legal activity anymore, and as the daughter of a consul she had a reputation to maintain that was higher than most.

Valencia gave a bitter laugh and held up her leather purse, hefting it and listening to the silver and bronze pieces as they clinked together inside. Next time, though, she would have him for sure.

Him, but not Crispinus.

She let the purse fall onto the pillows next to her, remembering what had happened at the party. It had been bad enough having to go and make pleasantries with that poor excuse for a consul, Hardalio, but seeing that woman there, Katelyn, kissing the gladiator so shamelessly, had been intolerable. She'd recognized a challenge when she saw one, and it had been galling to stand there and not act as she could have had they been alone. Her reputation, again, had gotten in the way.

Since then, she'd been praying every morning to the goddess Nemesis for vengeance. Too bad there wasn't a goddess of patience as well.

She picked her purse back up and eyed it. Eventually both of them would pay, even more than pathetic gamblers at the gambling hall. She wouldn't accept anything else.

When she reached home, it was to find a man arguing with one of the servants in her father's atrium. By his formal dress and haughty demeanor, she thought at first that he was one of those irritating politicians that liked to hang around and purloin meals, all the while buzzing in her father's ear like unsquishable house flies. But she knew all the politicians worth knowing, and as she crossed the room to aid the flustered servant, she realized that though this man was vaguely familiar, he was no one so official.

He spotted her the same time the servant did. Both look relieved.

"Leave us," she told the servant, who scampered off mid-order. Valencia eyed the man standing in front of her with her best look of disdain. "Who are you?"

"I am Cato Porcius. And you?"

Cato, the gladiator master? What could he want? "I am Valencia Pulcher. What business do you have here?"

I'm looking for consul Valerius Pulcher."

"I wasn't aware my father had a meeting with you arranged."

Cato looked offended she would question him, even as he said, "He doesn't. This is an urgent matter that I must speak with him about immediately."

Valencia smirked. "And you think my father has nothing better to do than sit around at home in the middle of the afternoon, waiting, in case some no-name slave trainer comes around wanting to see him?"

She turned away from him. "Go take your problem to consul Hardalio if you want someone to listen to you whine so badly. I'm sure he'll have plenty of time for you."

"As if I would trust such a weak-hearted plebian! The Lex Licinia Sextia was the most foolish law, letting commoners run for office. That is a privilege that should belong only to patricians."

Interesting. They were like-minded about one thing it seemed. Valencia turned back and gave him an appraising glance. He was too arrogant by half for someone of his station, with a body gone to fat and eyes as small and hard as an angry boar. She'd seen him around the Colosseum over the years and was no more impressed now than she'd been then. Still, it couldn't hurt to see what he wanted. For amusement, if nothing else.

"Tell me what your problem is and if I feel it's significant enough, I will set up a time for you to meet with my father," she said.

The rumble of anger he made was very boar-like. If he'd had tusks, she expected he would've charged her.

"I don't need to plead to a woman to see whom I want," he said.

"Maybe if you had gone about things properly," she conceded with a mocking nod. "But you came here, waving your self-entitlement in people's faces, in my face, so now you're going to have to play by a different set of rules, I'm afraid. Mine."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I will have a few words with my father, and your little problem becomes the least of your worries."

Valencia enjoyed the impotent rage that swept across his face. Served him right, speaking to her like that. If she'd been in a less pleasant mood, she would've had him killed for such insolence.

"Fine!" he spat eventually. "I'm trying to get back a gladiator. Crispinus Agallon."

Valencia caught her breath. Had Nemesis finally answered her prayers? It couldn't be this easy.

"Explain," she commanded.

Cato clenched his hands into fists. "He accosted a woman and stole from her. I want him arrested for theft and charged, as is right."

Not the same woman from the other night, surely? "What did this woman look like?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there."

"Did she speak Latin?"

Cato looked surprised by the question. "Actually, no, she did not."

It was her. Valencia hissed through her teeth.

"But she took off, from what I hear," Cato went on. "So she should have no part of this."

"Actually," Valencia replied in a falsely mild tone of voice, "she is still very much around. And seems to have made up with the gladiator."

"That can't be! How do you know about her anyway?"

"We've met," Valencia said shortly. "And your little gladiator was the one who gave the introductions, in a manner of speaking."

Cato cursed, long and fluently; Valencia felt like doing the same.

"I guess that's it then." He cursed some more. "And I sent some of my other gladiators out to retrieve him, too. Now when they return I will have to release him, again, damn it all! He'll kill me for sure this time."

"He tried to kill you?" Of course she knew Crispinus had been freed, but not why. She couldn't say she blamed him for almost doing the man in, but oh, how tales of his ruthlessness made her want.

The bastard.

"Yes," Cato grumbled. "He made me release him under pain of death."

"You mean Crispinus threatened you? His master?"

Cato jerked his head in a nod. "With a sword to my stomach. Gladiators have no respect for their betters anymore."

Valencia pondered this. Perhaps all hope was not lost. She smiled at the pathetic man despairing in front of her. He looked at her curved lips warily. "What?"

"Just thinking how fortunate you are, to have me here to help you." You stupid man, she added mentally.

"You mean you will? You are?" He didn't seem to believe it. "But I thought that woman… If she's with Agallon…"

"She's still as ignorant as a newborn colt, and was weak as one too," said Valencia, waving his words aside. "And we have something much better on him now than theft." It took a moment for realization to hit him. When it did, the evil smiled that split his face was the most impressive thing she'd see from him so far.

"Let us go find my father, shall we?" she said.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

It was around mid-morning when Crispinus finally broke through the last of the trees, Kate right behind him, and out into the sprawling open hills he remembered so well from his youth. The constant rises and dips made him feel nostalgic for all the times he had raced his brother over these hills on their father's two best horses, not stopping until both beasts and boys were covered in sweat.

But from the slightly green pallor on Kate's face, he feared she was only nauseous. It did feel much like a being on a ship in the middle of a bad storm—an experience he had only been through once, fortunately—but eventually the hills broadened so that the sensation of being slowly lifted and dropped was not so severe, and by the afternoon, Kate had perked up enough to start talking again.

She didn't talk about herself, of course, but commented on how nice the day was, and how fresh—no smog, whatever that might be. From the way she said it, Crispinus thought it might be some kind of bad odor, though the gods knew from what. She said the hills were an interesting contrast to the flat plains when she'd lived out west, and when Crispinus tried to nonchalantly ask how far west, she got that look in her eyes, part pain, part stubbornness, and replied in the same vague tone in which she answered every question, "Very."

He believed her when she said she was trying to be honest with him. Mostly. But that didn't stop it from being frustrating, or from convincing him that he didn't need to know. Hopefully time could persuade her in a way his less-than-subtle prodding could not. He wasn't sure what else he could do if it didn't.

They reached their destination by early evening, just as the sun began to slip away for the night. Crispinus hadn't realized how worried he'd truly been until he topped the final hill and felt the immense wave of relief at seeing his family home still safe and whole. None of the buildings had been razed; none of the fields burned. Over in the wheat fields he could hear men singing as they headed in for the day, the bob of several scythes the only things visible.

Next to the fields, figures weaved like peaceful ghosts through the olive vines, and farther back, he saw the warm light of a fire flickering over the windows of the main house.

He kicked his horse into a canter, trusting Kate to catch up to him. He suddenly needed to see his brother. To make absolutely sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was all right.

He called his name as he drew closer, and when no one came, he called again, even louder.

"Drusus!"

From the house, shapes stirred across the windows, then the doorway went dark as two people emerged. His brother and sister-in-law, the gods be praised.

He rode up to them and swung down off his horse, yanking his brother into his arms before he had a chance to react. The shock wore off in seconds and Drusus hugged him back with force.

Crispinus was startled at the physical differences ten years had wrought in him. When he had left home, still no more than a boy and Drusus a young man, his brother had exceeded him in both height and weight. But now they came eye-to eye with each other, and Crispinus had at least twenty pounds of muscle on his sibling.

Drusus must have been thinking the same thing, because he said to his wife, "Who is this beast of a gladiator embracing me? I vow he can't possibly be the gangly calf who left home a decade ago, can he?"

"I daresay he is, husband," she said with a warm smile.

Crispinus shoved him away. "Of course it's me. And though I may have been a gangly calf, you are still an ignorant swine."

Drusus laughed. "Such disrespect! I fear you can only be my brother, then."

Crispinus ignored him and turned to his sister-in-law, Annia. She had married his brother only a few short months before he'd left for gladiator school, and in truth he didn't know much about her besides what Drusus had wrote in the occasional letter. Still, he was glad to see she was well and, a little startling, heavy with child.

He bowed. "Greetings, sister."

"And to you, brother. It's nice to see you again."

"An odd time for you to show up, and without sending advanced word," said Drusus.

"I came to make sure you didn't need rescuing from any of my fellows who might have thought to stop by."

His sibling feigned casualness. "Indeed, some of them did. It seems they were looking for you, though they refused to explain themselves." Here Drusus gave him a sharp look. "Considering how thoroughly they searched my property and questioned my wife and I, I'm looking forward to an explanation from you, brother."

"I'm sure you are," Crispinus said dryly.

Annia pointed. "Who is that?"

Kate had caught up to them and managed to dismount on her own. She stood several feet away, but her eyes were not on him or his family members, they were on the workers in the fields.

He called out to her but she didn't respond. Her gaze was fixed, and she looked as ill as she had traversing the hills that morning.

"Kate?"

The place had a rustic charm Kate hadn't expected. Acres of shining wheat fields, rows upon rows of what she thought were olive vines. Three low buildings stood together in a rough horseshoe shape between both crops, with smaller, more homey looking dwellings dotting the middle of it. Beyond was a grander house, though still modest in comparison to the others she'd been in. She'd thought it was perfectly charming, and had been looking forward to a few days of healing and rest.

And then she'd spotted the people in the fields.

Now she was fighting off a major freak-out. Those men and women in their simple garments and dirt-smudged faces looked an awful lot like slaves to her, and though she might not know a lot about ancient civilizations, she did know that slavery was a common practice in most places during this time period. There'd been a few unhappy-looking servants carrying trays of food the other night at the party, but she hadn't let herself look too closely or think about it too hard. It'd been a cowardly action on her part, but there was nothing she could've done, even if she'd been sure, and so she'd looked the other way and tried to put it from her mind.

But there was no "other way" to look here. She couldn't escape the truth staring her in the face, and the fact that is was Crispin's family who was responsible…

Crispin was calling for her, but she couldn't answer, couldn't look away from the people in the fields. They had Death's favorite weapon slung over their shoulders as they walked, singing some cheerful tune that threatened to shatter her control over her emotions. She was tired, hungry, and hurting from riding all day, not the best combination for staying rational. But how rational could she be? She never would've guessed, ever, that she would be faced with something like this. Had she been naïve, or was it denial? It was certainly one too many problems she didn't have an answer for.

When it was clear she wasn't going to move, Crispin came jogging over, looking uneasy. "Kate? Are you all right?"

She had to take several deep breaths before she was able to speak. "Please tell me those aren't slaves."

He looked over at the workers, then back at her, his expression confused. "Of course they are. What else would they be?"

She felt sick. She knew Crispin wasn't a bad guy. It's just the society he grew up in. He doesn't know any better, she thought desperately, as if trying to convince some unseen jury in her mind. But ignorance still didn't make owning slaves right, and she didn't think she could handle pretending to think that way, especially not on top of everything else.

What should she do? Should she leave? But she had nowhere else to go.

Kate looked around, passed her horse, back towards the empty hills where who-knew-what kind of creatures and thieves lied in wait for the coming night. How far would she make it without food, money, or protection? Not far. She would be killed for a few dozen strangers who wouldn't even know the sacrifice she was making, and who wouldn't even be helped by it.

She would become the world's worst martyr.

And Crispin. This was not the way she wanted to end things. Bad enough if she needed to leave him to get home, but like this… it felt wrong.

But should she give up her principles for safety and shelter? Keeping secrets from Crispin was one thing; this was another issue entirely. If she stayed, what kind of person would that make her?

"Kate, what's wrong? Speak to me."

Kate focused back on the gladiator with effort. He'd gotten even closer during her inner angsting, and was hunched the tiniest bit with his hands raised, as if she was a wild animal that might bolt if spooked.

"What's wrong? You… Crispin, how can you own slaves?" she cried.

From behind Crispin, the man she assumed was his brother said, "To be fair, I'm the one that owns them."

A very pregnant woman stood beside him. The sister-in-law, Kate guessed. She smacked her husband on the arm. "Don't tease. Can't you see how upset she is?" To Kate she said, "Please, dear, come inside and we can talk."

"Kate." Crispin drew her attention back to him. "I think you're misunderstanding."

"What's to misunderstand? Are they, or are they not, slaves?" A few of the people in the fields had made it close enough to hear them. They stopped and watched with interest. It made it even worse somehow. She wanted to grab their tools and tell them to run. She wanted to smack Crispin over his cute, curly head and demand to know what he was thinking. But she knew the answer to that already. He was thinking that's how life was here.

"They are slaves," he said, "but, Kate, do you really think, with my brother being related to a slave for so many years himself, that he would treat his own unkindly?"

It was true. Crispin had been a slave as a gladiator. But, she argued with herself, there were double standards everywhere here. Just because Crispin had been a slave in the arena did not automatically mean he would care about other kinds of slaves. Didn't the fact that he had them at all prove that?

"We grew up with these people, Kate." His tone was clearly desperate for her to understand. "They're like family to us; we would never mistreat them. They want for nothing and have better lives than most free plebeians. And they're happy, you can even ask them yourself."

"That's just society brainwashing them into thinking that," she said.

"Brainwashing?"

The word had come out in English. There was no Latin term for it. Kate waved her hand impatiently. "It means to twist ones thinking to suit another's purposes. You're taking advantage of them, Crispin!"

To her shock, he chuckled. "You sound so much like her."

Kate wanted to slug him. "I swear, if you're talking about another one of your ex-lovers I'll—"

"No!" he said quickly, looking horrified. "I was talking about my mother."

"Your… mother?"

He nodded. "She was taken as a slave from Greece. My grandfather bought her at market and gave her to my father as a servant for his home. But he fell in love with her and freed her. He wanted them to marry, but she said she wouldn't marry a man who kept other Greeks as slaves, so he offered them freedom too. Some left, but some stayed. They are always free to go, though, if they wish. We kept up the tradition even after our parents passed on. They have only to ask, as do their children."

Kate looked around him and pinned his brother with her gaze. "Is this true?"

He bowed his head in a respectful nod. "It is."

"And can they read? What are their hours? What happens if they get sick?" She shot him her most intimidating glare. "You don't beat them, do you?"

He laughed. "Gods, this is a fierce woman you have, Crispinus! To answer your questions, no, we do not condone physical abuse here. And, yes, most of them can read. If they get sick we take care of them, of course, and their hours are no longer than mine."

Kate hmphed, noncommittal. Crispin was still hovering as if he was prepared to grab her if she tried to run. She wasn't sure if that relieved or annoyed her.

"Kate?"

"I…" She ran over all the reassurances he'd given her. If their… workers, were really content with their lives—and if Crispin's brother would really give them freedom whenever they wanted it—she had to draw the line on judgment somewhere, didn't she? She wasn't sure where her rights fell in this. This wasn't her world, after all. If those people singing their songs out there were healthy and happy, how much farther could she push the issue?

"I'm not happy about this," she said honestly, needing to make her feelings plain. "I realize this is a normal situation for… around here. But where I come from slavery is a terrible thing. I don't like it, and frankly, I'm uncomfortable dealing with people who do. Even if they do seem better than most," she added, to be fair.

"I think that's the best compliment I've gotten all year," said Crispin's brother cheerfully, receiving twin glares from his wife and Crispin.

Kate blushed, though it was stupid to be embarrassed, considering she'd brought it on herself. Well that was a great first impression I just made, she thought.

Crispin took her hand. In a solemn voice he said, "I'm sorry this is so shocking for you. The last thing I wanted was to upset you. But please—" He brought her hand to his lips, "—please trust me for now. Tomorrow I will take you and you can look around and question people to you're heart's content. And if you find something troubling, I will do my best to fix it."

She wanted to say that only freeing them would fix everything, but even she knew better than to say so. Instead, she said, "Thank you. I would appreciate that."

He gave her a hesitant smile and released her hand. He was trying, she had to give him that. Kate wondered, though, how long they could dodge all these cultural differences before it became too much.

"May I introduce you to my family now?" he asked.

She nodded, feeling that unreasonable shyness creeping back. He turned her gently towards the two people watching them. "I'd like you to meet my brother, Drusus, and his wife, Annia."

She nodded politely. "It's nice to meet you, Drusus. Annia."

"It's nice to meet you too, Kate," Annia said, just as politely, as if Kate hadn't questioned her whole way of life before even learning her name. She was very petite besides her swollen stomach, with a sweet round face and light blonde hair done up in a braid wrapped around her head. Undone, it must reach her waist, at least.

"A pleasure," Drusus said with a grin. He was much leaner and tanner than his brother. His hair was also darker, with curls not quite as tight. His eyes were the same piercing blue, though.

Drusus led the way to the house, walking slow for his wife. Crispin stayed close to Kate. Kate was walking even slower than Annia, and soon there was a good bit of distance between the two pairs. Part of Kate wanted to apologize for making such a fuss, while the other part of her remained indignant. Mostly, she just felt awkward.

"I'm sorry to hear about your parents," she murmured after a few moments of silent walking.

"It was a long time ago," Crispin said. "I'm sure they are both happy together in Elysium now."

"Elysium?"

Crispin gave her another one of those looks that said she was being ignorant about something she should know. "It's where those who are good go when they've passed on to the Underworld."

When she still didn't get it, he added, "Ruled by Hades?"

"Oh. Oh! Yes, right." She bumped her head with the heel of her palm. "Duh. The Underworld."

Crispin's lips twitched like he wanted to smile. "'Duh'?"

"The exclamation of an idiot," she said. "But… wait, isn't Hades a Greek god? I thought the Romans had their own names for them."

"Ah, well, that's more of my mother's influence, I'm afraid. She died when I was very young, but she had my father and brother referring to the gods by their Greek names and I guess it rubbed off on me, through them. I can call them by their Roman names if you prefer," he said.

"No, that's okay. I know way more about the Greek gods than the Roman ones anyway."

"Why is that? Do you live closer to Greece?"

She laughed at his attempt, even now, to get information out of her. "No, not at all. Nice try though."

Drusus and Annia reached the house, and after a glance their way, went inside. Kate stopped a few yards back; so did Crispin.

"My mother is in Elysium too," Kate admitted.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said sincerely. "May I ask—when did it happen?"

When, indeed. "A few years ago. But it feels like a lot less some days."

He nodded in understanding. "Was you're father greatly grieved by it?" he asked.

Kate flinched at the mention of Paul. She wanted to answer no, that he was a selfish asshole who cared only about himself, but that wouldn't have been fair. Her father might not grieve, but he regretted.

For the first time Kate wondered if maybe that was all she could ask for.

"I… I really don't want to talk about it," she said, turning towards the house. "We should go in. You're family will be wondering—"

Crispin caught her arm and gently turned her back around. She worried he would demand to know more, but he merely kissed her softly on the forehead and whispered, "Thank you for confiding in me, Kate."

She really hadn't confided all that much. But hearing him talk about his parents passing, she felt as if she owed it to him to do the same. It was scary how easy it had been too, given the right opening. The right person.

Kate sighed. It seemed being stranded in Rome was no longer her biggest problem.

Inside the farmhouse was small to the point of being cramped, but neat. They found Drusus and Annia in kitchen, a quaint little room that actually looked a great deal like any other kitchen, minus modern devices. Pots hung, shiny and clean, from a pot rack along one wall. There were wooden cupboards, simple in design but well-constructed, and even an oven made from brick and clay, similar to the old-fashioned pizza ovens Kate sometimes saw in the more authentic restaurants.

Crispin pulled out a chair for Kate, then fetched a clay pitcher of wine from the back counter as if he'd stowed it there himself that morning. He poured them both a drink and Kate downed hers in five big gulps. Crispin downed his own in three then poured them both more.

Drusus came over and pushed a wooden plate stacked high with slices of fresh bread between them. Annia set a shallow bowl next to it. It was filled with olive oil and bits of herbs. Kate thanked them both before diving in. The bread was flat and soft, with a thin crunchy outside. The olive oil was delicious, light, and flavorful. Kate complimented how good it was inbetween bites, which made Drusus laugh and Annia beam. Crispin grunted his assent.

"So," Drusus said when all that was left on the table were empty dishes and some crumbs, "I'll have that explanation now."

Kate, who was trying to subtly lick oil off her fingers, looked at Crispin. Dutifully, Crispin told his brother the same story he'd told her, about Cato and the necklace and being accused of theft. He was politely vague about Kate's role in it, making it seem like she had given him the necklace on purpose so he could buy his freedom, instead of being scared witless out of it.

When he finished, his brother leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully. It was Annia who asked, "What will you do?"

"Rest for a few days, then go back and face him," said Crispin. "If I don't, he'll only send more men, and they might not be as peaceable this time."

"I'm going with you," said Kate.

Crispin looked at her. She couldn't read his expression. After a moment, he shook his head. "No. I'm sure you're anxious to get back to the city, but I will return for you when this is all figured out and it's safer. I will take you then."

Kate bristled. 'Take you,' my ass, she thought. As if she was a child begging to go to the toy store!

"I don't care about getting back to the city," she told him. "I want to go so I can help you."

"Help me?"

"Yes! If I can explain to Cato that I gave you the necklace, then he'll have to back off, won't he?" If she was going to be stuck here, she might as well try. It was partly her fault too, anyway.

Crispin visibly softened at that. He reached for her hand and she grudgingly let him take it, still a little miffed at his earlier attitude.

"My apologies, sweetling. I should have known better," he said humbly. Kate blushed at the term of endearment. She looked over at his brother to find him staring hard at his sibling. Annia just looked pleased.

Kate cleared her throat uncomfortably. "So I'm coming with you then."

"No."

She glared at him. "Why the hell not?"

"It's too dangerous to get you any more involved. This isn't just a visit to talk things over. This could easily become a court issue."

"So? I'll happily testify—"

"And say what? You have no proof that the necklace belongs to you either, nor do you have family nearby to support any of your claims. You're not even a legal citizen." He spoke softly, but Kate still felt as if she'd just been reprimanded. Crispin hunched forward in his chair so that they were eye-to-eye. "I don't say these things to be cruel," he whispered. "I'm touched that you want to defend me. But we have to act wisely in this. If we don't, both our freedoms might be lost."

"But if I don't go, how will you prove you didn't steal it?"

"I will figure something out," he said, which told her he had no idea at all.

Kate sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. In the most magnanimous tone she could muster she said, "I'll think about it."

Drusus laughed. Crispin scowled. She matched his look, refusing to back down. His points were valid and if she was sure he could handle it alone then she would let him. But she'd be damned if she was going to let him tell her what to do, just because. If it seemed like he needed her help then he would get it and just have to deal. Kate thought she had proved by this point that she could take a little danger.

"I like her," Drusus said. To Kate he asked, "Where are you from anyway? You never said."

Without looking away from each other, Kate and Crispin both answered at the same time, "Far away."

The meal took several more hours to end, or maybe Kate was so tired it just felt that way. It didn't help that Crispin and Drusus had moved on to the subject of farming, something that would've bored her into a stupor even if she hadn't been beat. They talked about the upcoming crop rotation, and drought, which was bad this year. Drusus seemed particularly worried about something called latifundia, a word that, even knowing the language now, went right over Kate's head. From what she could surmise from the conversation, it had something to do with being bought-out. Apparently some neighboring farmer, an extremely wealthy patrician, wanted Drusus's land to add to his own.

"As if I'd ever sell to that caenum!" he said with an angry snort.

It was around this time that Kate dozed off enough that she smacked her head against the kitchen table, breaking the flow of the conversation with all the subtlety of a battering ram. Drusus coughed to cover up a chuckle while Crispin checked her abused forehead for signs of damage, kissing it as a mother might do to take the pain away. Kate knew she was beyond exhausted when the gesture made her eyes water.

"I should get you to bed," he said.

She shook her head. "No. Stay and catch up with your brother. I can get there myself. Just tell me where."

He looked ready to argue with her, but Annia piped in, "I can take her," with an enthusiasm that said she was no more fascinated with the problem of how many oxen it took to plow a field than Kate was.

"If you're sure," said Crispin, looking a little wary of his sister-in-law. Kate couldn't fathom why; she'd been nothing but courteous so far.

Kate thanked her and the two excused themselves, the men bidding them goodnight before launching back into their conversation as if they'd never been interrupted.

"They used to go on for hours like this," Annia whispered as she slipped from the room, Kate right behind her. "Drusus may not seem like it, but I can tell how happy he is to have his brother back with him."

Kate nodded, thinking of Jason and how much it would mean to her to see him again. "I'm glad."

Maybe it was the slight catch in her voice that gave her away, but Annia slid her a look as she took a small oil lamp from off a nearby table and held it up. It was already lit, and for it's size did well to combat the heavy darkness of night that had fallen while they'd been eating.

"You miss your family," she said. It wasn't a question.

Kate could barely choke out a yes. She needed to go to bed; her emotional shields were not what they needed to be for this kind of conversation.

"I haven't seen my family in a very long time either," Annia confessed and she led her down the hall. "Not since I moved here from Athens to marry Drusus."

"But wasn't that—"

"Almost eleven years ago." She nodded. "It was very hard, the first couple years. But I knew when I left that I would never see my homeland again, or my people, so I was able to make my peace with it. You were not so lucky, I think."

Kate was startled by her perceptiveness. "No. I wasn't."

Annia nodded again. "That will make it harder. But you have Crispinus, and you have us. Though I am unclear about what your final relationship with my brother-in-law will be, I would be honored to call you my sister."

Kate wasn't sure how to take the middle part of that statement, but the beginning and the ending sure made her eyes burn. She was just too tired for this!

"How can you be so nice to me?" she asked. "You barely know me. And I was so rude to all of you when I first got here—"

"You were honest and outspoken," Annia countered, "not rude. I found your opinions refreshing myself."

That made Kate laugh. "You are a very strange woman, you know that?" she said.

Annia merely smiled and entwined her free arm with Kate's, as if they were old friends, or… or even sisters. The gesture made Kate feel shaky, and she realized just how much she'd missed having a female friend around who she could talk to and trust. One that wouldn't try to drown her, or send her away to a world not her own.

They reached what served as the bathroom. It was even smaller than the kitchen. Annia gave her a small bowl of paste that looked like ash and smelled faintly like eggs. When Kate asked what it was, Annia explained that it was the ground up remains of burned eggshells, to clean her teeth with.

"This is a prank, right?" said Kate, staring at the paste.

"We have powdered oxen hooves too, if you would prefer," Annia offered. Her expression was guileless.

Kate used the eggshells and then rinsed her mouth out well with more wine, praying she escaped the time period before all her teeth rotted from her head. Annia left and reappeared with a large bowl of water scented with lavender. It smelled much better than the toothpaste.

"It's too late for a proper bath," Annia said apologetically, handing Kate a cloth, "but this will at least help until tomorrow."

Kate didn't have the energy for much bathing anyway. She knew she reeked of horse, leather, dirt and sweat, but she'd tolerated it all day, she could deal with it for one more night. She tried to shoo Annia from the room, but the woman was adamant about helping her, teasing her all the while about being too shy. When she saw Kate's injury, she turned serious and ran off to get more ointment and bandages. Kate just prayed that the ointment wasn't made out of ground-up horse tails or something.

When that was done, she was forced to ask Annia about the toilet situation. The pregnant woman laughed so hard Kate worried for her baby, then she pointed to what look like a very pretty vase over in the corner and handed her another sponge-on-a-stick. Kate took it, but this time forcefully removed Annia from the room.

There were just some things that a girl needed to do in private.

Kate woke several hours later to the feeling of the bed dipping, and a heavy arm sliding across her back.

"I thought you would stay up all night," she said around a yawn.

"Almost."

Kate blinked open her eyes to find that the darkness of the bedroom had very much lightened since Annia had dropped her off there, but it still wasn't anywhere near bright enough to think about getting up.

She rolled over and Crispin pulled her closer, ever mindful of her injury. She buried her face against his neck then jerked back. "Oh, ugh, you smell about as good as I do."

She felt more than heard his chuckle; already his breathing was evening out.

She turned so that they were back to chest instead. He wrapped his arm around her waist and tucked her securely against him.

"How are you holding up?" he murmured, after such a long stretch of silence she thought he'd fallen asleep.

"Holding," Kate said.

"Mmm, that's good."

"The bed helps."

"Mm."

In a softer voice Kate said, "You're family helps too."

He nuzzled her hair. Apparently his nose didn't offend as easily as hers did. "I'm glad."

So was she. Especially if she was stuck here.

"Anything else that helps?"

"Anything else?"

"Any one?" he corrected pointedly. He sounded a bit more awake suddenly.

Kate smirked and pretended to think about it. "Hm, nope. No one that I can think of."

He growled and squeezed her hip, making her squeak. "No one at all?"

She laughed. "I guess it helps having you around too."

He snorted but relaxed back. Kate took his hand, running her fingers over long, calloused digits and rough palm. She could feel the strength of it, like a live current just under the skin, and yet towards her he kept it gentle, always gentle.

"Thank you," she said quietly, "for bringing me with you. You could have easily left me in Rome and been here twice as fast."

"I will never leave you, Kate," he said.

She pressed a kiss to his fingertips. It was the best promise he could've given her. And even more fantastic—

She believed him.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Kate slept fitfully the rest of the night. Or, more accurately, the rest of the morning. She was still tired, but no longer tired enough to ignore the dull throb in her shoulder, or the homesickness eating at her heart, or her worries about Crispin, of which there were many, with the majority being related to her.

She worried about how he was going to handle this accusation of theft. She worried about how she was going to keep avoiding his questions, and what they would do if they finally hit a cultural roadblock neither of them could pass.

She worried about what she would do with him if she couldn't get home.

She worried about what she would do with him if she could.

When the sun had risen to a decent height in the sky, Kate abandoned her worries—and Crispin, who should no signs of waking anytime soon—and ventured out with hopes of getting food and, she prayed, a good washing. Her little misadventure at the bathhouse seemed like centuries ago, which, for her, was saying something.

She took her time finding the kitchen, enjoying the warm breeze that swept through the open hallways and whistled around the lime concrete pillars. The layout of the farmhouse was a simple one. The building was shaped in a square-ish figure eight with courtyards forming the two middles, one slightly larger than the other. The bigger courtyard had a very long, shallow pool, maybe four feet deep. Kate wasn't sure what it was for—bathing? flood control?—but it looked pretty. The smaller courtyard was decorated like a miniature garden with colorful patches of bushes and flowers and several wicker chairs plated with straw that looked very comfortable by the current time period's seating standards.

A few doorways stood open and Kate couldn't help but peek inside them as she passed. She found a couple lonely looking looms, and out of one window a giant cistern. There was a room filled with wood and bronze machines she didn't recognize that all smelled like oil—she assumed it had something to do with processing the olives—and a quick sneak down a short flight of stairs put her in a wine cellar. She also stumbled upon a massive collection of oversized clay pots Kate thought might be used for storage, or maybe fermentation, considering the odd smell that permeated the air around them.

She wasn't brave enough to lift a lid and find out.

She noticed, though, that the whole building was pretty spartan as far as furnishings went. It seemed like there was only what was necessary and not an oil lamp more. Even where she'd slept there'd only been the bed, a wooden chest, and a divan near the window. Minimalism at it's finest. The red and gold bedsheets had been the most colorful thing in the room. Kate wasn't quite sure if the lack of decorative furniture and other ornaments was a rural thing, a status thing, or a roman thing. Maybe Crispin's family just hated knick-knacks.

When Kate finally arrived at the kitchen Annia was there, nibbling on a pear. She smiled when she saw Kate enter.

"Good morning, sister. Would you care for some breakfast?" She gestured to a bowl of fruit and a plate of bread. Kate blushed at the familial title. Apparently Annia had been serious during their talk last night. It warmed her as much as it embarrassed her.

Kate took a seat at the table and reached for the bread, sighing with pleasure when she found it was still warm.

"Did you make this?" she asked.

"I did."

"Well, it's delicious. I think I said that last night, but it's so good I'll say it again."

Annia laughed. "Thank you. We have a cook but baking has always been a secret love of mine, so I force her to share space." She looked down at her pear, scratching a nail lightly over the skin. "I thought you might like to join me for a bath down at the river this morning."

"A bath?" Just the thought made Kate groan in appreciation. "I'd love to."

Annia looked up and beamed. "Wonderful! I'll go prepare a basket. We will leave as soon as you're done."

Dropping her fruit onto the table, she hopped up with a sprightliness that even Kate, not bursting with baby, couldn't have managed, and headed for the door. She made it just as Drusus was coming through himself. He caught her by the arms before she could run into him, but still her big belly bumped against his flat one.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" His eyes widened with concern. "Is something wrong? Is it the baby?"

"No, no, everything's fine," Annia said, flapping her hands to make him release her. "Kate and I are going to bathe at the river, so I was just off to get some things."

He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. It was the exact same pose Crispin liked to use when he was trying to look commanding and Kate wondered if the brother's had learned it from their father, or if one had copied it from the other.

Annia looked unimpressed, both with his intimidating stance and his tone as he said, "The river is too far for you."

"It's barely a quarter hour away," she argued. "I've walked there countless times."

"Not pregnant you haven't."

"Walking is good for the baby."

"And if you go into labor?"

Kate looked around for an exit besides the one being blocked by the arguing couple. It was extremely awkward sitting here while they did this. If she could just slip away and come back when they were done….

Unfortunately, the only other way out was a narrow window she'd never get her hips through.

Damn.

"I won't. It's still not time," said Annia.

"At least take someone with you."

"I am not a child in need of a _paedagogue_. Kate will be there. If anything happens, she will more than make do."

Annia gestured towards her as she spoke, and Drusus seemed to realize for the first time that they had an audience member. He looked at Kate, partly in apology, partly in annoyance, before turning back to his wife. He eyed her critically, as if searching for any hint of weakness he could use to justify making her stay, but Annia's expression remained serene. Kate wished she had the power to remain so peaceful looking during an argument.

"I want you back by noon," he said finally, scowling at the smile his wife gave him as he caved. "If you're not standing well and whole in front of me by then I'm coming to retrieve you myself, and you will not be having another bath until the baby is born."

"Reasonable as always," Annia said, standing on tiptoes so she could kiss his cheek. Drusus immediately bent down to accommodate her, turning his head at the last second so that she got his lips instead. They clung together long enough that Kate started to feel uncomfortable for an entirely different reason, and she eyed the window again. Maybe if she twisted sideways?

Finally they broke apart and Annia gave her husband another dazzling smile that he grudgingly returned before she hurried off. It faded though, once she was gone.

"I need you to promise me something," he said to Kate, still looking in the direction his wife had vanished.

"What?"

Drusus took a deep breath and let it out. "If Annia starts to feel bad, or if you get any hint at all that something's not right, bring her back here immediately. Drag her back if you have to."

Well that sounded ominous.

"Is there something I should know?" she asked. "I'm not trying to be nosy, but if something's going on that I need to be on the lookout for—"

He looked at her finally, and even managed another one of those grudging smiles. "It's probably nothing. Expectant fathers are the most paranoid people you will meet. Have you ever heard that expression?"

"No," said Kate. She'd never really seen it in action either. Jason was thoughtful and supportive of Sarah's pregnancy— _which is over now_ , she had to remind herself—and though he might've been a little jumpy towards the end there, paranoia wasn't part of it. Nerves, maybe. Excitement, definitely. But not paranoia and this underlining sense of fear she was getting from Drusus.

Then again, her brother was well educated medically and there was a hospital just two blocks away from his home. Here they had no hospital, no doctors, and very little understanding about how the human body actually worked. Looking at it that way, the man's overprotectiveness was more than understandable.

He came over and picked up the pear. "Annia's?"

Kate nodded. He stared down at it, running his fingers over the small bite marks. His face was expressionless but there was a riot of emotions in his eyes. She couldn't pin down any one specifically, but she could guess at most of them.

Finally, he seemed to shake himself and handed the fruit to her. "Make her finish it, if you can," he said.

"I'll try."

"And about that promise?"

Kate didn't answer right away. She felt the weight of the question and how much he was relying on her to protect Annia for him. Slowly, she set the pear down and met his gaze squarely. "Last night, Annia said she would be honored to call me sister. But, the truth of it is… I was the one who felt honored. You understand?"

He kept his gaze as solemn as hers. "I do."

Kate nodded. She picked the half-eaten fruit back up and made for the door. She was done eating; she might as well help Annia pack. Drusus called to her as she was leaving and she turned back.

His smile was back to being the teasing smirk she'd seen so much of the night before. It was a relief to see it.

"Annia's not the only one who wouldn't mind having a sister," he said.

Kate's throat closed up and she couldn't respond. But she managed a tremulous smile and he seemed to get it. She left, feeling touched, accepted, and a little guilty.

* * *

Going to the river accomplished two things Kate desperately needed: a bath, and an escape from all her problems that seemed to be compounding daily. Annia was a great person to talk to, and conversation flowed easily as they walked. She told Kate about how much she missed visiting the public baths for gossip and socializing, and Kate told her about her run-in with Crispin's ex, which had Annia gasping in both horror and mirth. It felt nice, being able to chat like this again with a fellow female, no pressure to discuss anything serious.

When they reached the water Annia put down the basket she was carrying and stripped. Kate hesitated only a moment before copying her, wishing like hell she could just kill this shy gene of hers once and for all. It wasn't like she could wash with her clothes on, and if Annia had no problems being naked around her with that giant baby belly casting a constant shadow over her feet, then what right did Kate have to feel self-conscious?

Annia pulled out a small jug of wine that she set in the shallows to cool, then picked up another, even smaller jar of scented olive oil. So far, Kate had seen olive oil used for food, lamp fuel, and bathing, and she was sure there were others she just didn't know about yet. Talk about being multi-purpose.

Annia handed her a _strigil_ thengrabbed one of her own, and they set about rubbing the oil on their skin and then scrapping it off, stopping for sips of wine every now and then. Kate wanted to cry with joy when Annia handed her a little bronze razor. It wasn't the sharpest blade she'd ever used, but she was too grateful to be picky.

When they were done, they slipped into the water to rinse off. The current was gentle, and the stones under their feet smooth. Kate asked Annia what she'd used to do before marrying Drusus, forgetting for a moment that most women of station didn't _do_ much of anything, especially work. But before she could apologize in case Annia was offended, the woman surprised her by answering that she used to be a vestal.

"A… vestal?" Kate echoed. It sounded like the name of a fancy sports car.

"Priestess of Vesta, goddess of the hearth. We keep and protect the sacred fire of Rome."

Kate gave her an apologetic look and shook her head.

"You really do come from far away, don't you?" Annia mused. "Well, how to explain…" She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "The sacred fire is what keeps Rome alive. Anyone can come there to collect fire for their homes, and it's a symbol of security. As long as the fire burns, Rome is considered safe and strong."

"So… you just have to keep a fire going?" Kate didn't mean to belittle it. At least Annia had been contributing to society. Kate, on other hand, was nothing but a freeloader now, without even the excuse of being married or independently wealthy. She realized if this trip became long term, she was going to have to find a job here. Wouldn't that be fun.

"We have many duties, that is simply the biggest one." Annia dipped her head back in the water, wetting her hair and wringing it out. "We're also the protectors of certain sacred objects, and are sometimes asked to store wills and important documents, as we are considered to be as incorruptible as we are chaste."

"You mean you're not allowed to—" Kate almost said 'have sex' but she didn't think that was openly acceptable for any single woman in this time period, not just a vestal. Instead, she said, "get married?"

"Not until after we're done serving," Annia said.

"So are they, these vestals?"

"Are they what?"

Kate smirked. "As incorruptible as they are chaste?"

Annia did not join in her humor. "For the most part. Most have no interest in such things, and those who do… well, even then, they usually abstain. The punishment for breaking such rules are…" She trailed off with a shudder. "It's illegal for anyone, even those of high power, to kill or hurt a vestalin the Roman empire, broken vows or not. But that does not mean there aren't other ways to mete out punishment."

"Like how?" Kate knew it would be horrible, but she was caught by dark curiosity.

"The last vestal who was found with a man…. They took her, and she was buried alive with enough food and water to last so they weren't technically hurting her, but she was still…" Annia rubbed at her swollen stomach, as if soothing the life within. "And if she felt remorseful… she was not supposed to eat, to prove her remorse. And that way, she would be killing herself, relieving those that had buried her of any lingering guilt they might feel for their part in it..."

Kate had been right. It was horrible. "Jesus."

Annia blinked, surprised. "You're Christian?"

"Uh…" Was Christianity a good thing yet? She couldn't remember.

"Nevermind, it's none of my business. Can we talk about something else?"

"Oh, sure, definitely," said Kate, just as eager to move on. "Tell me what else you do as a vestal."

Annia looked relieved. "Certainly. Let's see. We go to ceremonies where a vestal must bear witness. We also aid in certain rituals. It's a great honor. Usually women are not allowed to attend sacrifices."

Kate didn't think she would want attend a sacrifice anyway, but that women were purposely excluded irritated her. "What other perks do you get?"

Annia gave her a confused look. "Perks?"

English. She was going to have to watch that. "Privileges."

Annia thought about it as she fetched the wine jug from shore, taking a drink and then passing it to Kate. "Well, we are given places of honor at public games and plays."

"Great seats are always good."

"And our word is trusted without question."

"Because you're incorruptible." Theoretically.

"We can also free prisoners and slaves with a touch. If a man sees a vestal on his way to execution, he will be pardoned immediately."

" _No shit_?" The wine slipped from Kate's hand and hit the water with a heavy splash. She managed to rescue the jug after some fumbling, but the wine was a loss. She dumped it out, saying, "Are you serious? A death row prisoner spots you and he gets let off the hook just like that? What if he's guilty?"

Annia look bemused. "It's considered fate that he's meant to be free."

"Hmm." The dark red wine was spreading in a disturbing manner through the water. The women swam a little ways upstream to escape it.

"What else?" Kate asked.

Annia ticked the rest of the privileges off on her fingers. "We can make our own wills. We can own property. We can vote."

"So you're saying women who aren't vestals can't do any of that?" Just how many freedoms had she lost, coming here?

"Well, no." Annia cocked her head at her. "Can they do that were you come from?"

Kate sighed, feeling depressed all of a sudden. "Yeah."

"How—" But she didn't seem to have a word for it.

"Liberating?" Kate said dryly.

Soon after, they went back to shore to dry off. Annia pulled out a bundle she'd hid at the bottom of her basket and gave it to Kate. Kate looked at the pale purple cloth and felt her eyes burn, just a bit. She gave the woman an awkward hug, afraid of squishing the baby, and Annia hugged her back without enough force to squish _her_.

They dressed and collected their things. When they returned to the farm they found Drusus over by the edge of the wheat field, talking with a few of his workers; Annia's pace sped up just a bit as she headed for him, face alight. Kate started to follow, but stopped as she saw someone out of the corner of her eye, standing in the doorway of the house, watching her.

Even from a distance, she could see that Crispin had cleaned up too. His scruffy beard was gone, leaving him clean-shaven like the day she'd met him. His curls looked fluffier, and he had on new clothes: a dark gold _tunica_ that matched his hair. He'd even switched out of his boots for a pair of leather sandals. Normally, Kate could take or leave sandals on men, but these things were, well, _hot_. They crisscrossed over his feet and halfway up his calf. These weren't your usual plastic flip-flops. These sandals said, "I can show off my toes and still kick your ass."

She met his burning gaze and knew he'd taken in her refreshed appearance too and was just as much affected.

It did things to her insides to see such a look.

She was moving forward before she realized it, and when he started towards her, she broke into a run. His arms opened and she launched herself into them, sighing as he caught her and pulled her close. Why did it feel so right to be there, when by all accounts, she should never have been there at all?

"You're awake," she said, feeling inane for making such an obvious statement. "I mean, I thought for sure you'd be out most of the day."

"Mm," he said, nuzzling through her hair. "Well, when I woke up and you weren't there, I decided I'd rather be up with you than stay in bed alone."

"That's—" She was going to say, "sweet of you," but at that moment he found the sensitive spot just behind her ear and she choked on the words. He caught the skin there in a hot, open-mouth kiss of teeth and lips, almost a bite, and Kate arched as she felt the briefest flick of his tongue. "Crispin…"

He pulled back enough to look down at her, and she could see the inner battle waging in his mind. If it was anything close to her own inner battle, it had a lot to do with them and the foolishly forsaken bed.

"Crispinus!" They both turned. Drusus was waving them over.

Crispin blew out a frustrated breath, and after a moment, put her down. Kate had to force herself not to cling, but her fingers still curled as they ran down his arm. He must've felt the soft scrap of her nails because he shot her a hot look and said, "Later."

"Promise?"

He muttered a bunch of things she only caught snippets of. _Patience_ and _stupid brother_ being a popular few.

He took her hand and together they joined the stupid brother and Annia by the edge of the field. Whomever Drusus had been talking to was gone and Kate was secretly glad for it. She was still unhappy about how things were run here and that wouldn't ever change, no matter how content everyone was. The less she had to do with it until she could leave, the better.

_And if you're here for good?_ a snide little voice in her head asked.

_I won't be_ , she thought adamantly. But then she looked at Crispin, and Annia and Drusus, and felt the guilt she'd had talking to Drusus come creeping back.

"Annia and I thought you might enjoy a game of dice over lunch," Drusus said. "I'm assuming you're going to head back soon?"

"In a couple days," Crispin admitted. "The sooner all this is dealt with, the better."

Drusus nodded, expression neutral. Kate wondered how he really felt about his brother taking off again so soon, after having spent such a long time apart. He didn't even have the comfort that there would be a definite return visit.

"You might as well use this time and relax a bit," he said. "Play a couple games that _aren't_ deadly, for once."

"I suppose we could." Crispin glanced at Kate. "What do you think?"

She thought he deserved as much time with his family as he could get. "I think it's great idea."

"It's settled then." Drusus clapped his hands. "I will go get the dice. Annia, would you grab some food for us?"

"Of course."

They set off. Kate and Crispin found shade in a copse of trees and snuck kisses until the other two returned. Then they shared a wonderful lunch of bread, olives, fresh fruit, and of course wine. Drusus and Crispin told her stories about when they were kids. Or rather, Drusus would tell her about something Crispin had done that was naughty—like hiding all the lamps so when his father came home that night he was blind and stumbling through the house, furious but unable to see his son in order to catch and beat him—and Crispin would counter with a tale of his own—like the time Drusus bartered at the market with a stranger for a live tiger cub, which turned out to have been stolen from the Colosseum.

When they were done eating they played some dice, using olives to gamble with instead of money. It wasn't technically legal to gamble anymore, Kate learned. Too many people losing their fortunes and sometimes even their homes if they were foolish enough to put them up. But it was such big business that most officials just looked the other way, and there were gambling halls all over the city.

Drusus brought out an old discus, and Kate got excited until she realized it wasn't the lightweight Frisbee of her day. This one was made of stone and weighed at least five pounds—not exactly something you and your dog could play with at the park. She still would've given it go, but Crispin—who'd been helping Annia pack up the remaining food at the time—spotted her and snatched the discus from her hands before she could throw it. He then proceeded to reprimand her for handling something so heavy with her injury. Kate tolerated the lecture only because she knew his anger came from well-meant concern, but when the finger came out and started waving like a fly in her face she'd decided she'd had enough. She bent the annoying digit back just far enough to make him yelp. He stopped yelling, and she retreated quickly from the field, confident they had both made their point.

For the rest of the afternoon she chatted with Annia and watched the men try to out-throw one another, acting as referee and judge whenever it came close. She'd had to work through a moment of pure, hormonal shock in the beginning, though, when both guys stripped down to the skin in order play. (Apparently wearing clothes was against the rules or something.) When she'd finally managed to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth it was to utter a strangled, "Oh my," which made Annia laugh so hard she tipped over and had to be helped back up. It didn't help that Crispin turned around at exactly that moment with a _very_ smug smile on his face and winked at her in a way that threatened to turn her already fried hormones into unsalvageable mush. When Annia leaned over to slyly ask Kate how she was liking the game, Kate answered honestly that she'd never enjoyed a sport more.

Both men were in excellent shape, but it was Crispin she couldn't take her eyes from. So much bare skin glowing gold in the sun, marred only by the occasionally slash of white scar tissue. She was entranced with the play of muscle as he hefted the round slab of stone, pulling his arm back and stepping into a smooth, almost elegant spin before letting go and sending it flying. All those hours helping her brother study anatomy had her naming each and every muscle as she saw it flex. The latissimus, the deltoid. The subcapularis, the teres major, the biceps. The pectorals and the abdominals. The hamstrings. Even that firm gluteus maximus tightened a bit as he hurled the discus across the field.

When the score was in the double digits and both men were even, Annia insisted on calling it. Drusus looked ready to argue until she made a comment about feeling a faint from the sun, at which point he shut his mouth and ushered her back inside post-haste. Kate lingered behind with Crispin, watching him dress with a sigh of regret. But then she remembered his earlier promise: later.

That made it easier.

When he was done, he came over and helped her to her feet. She gave him her best "c'mere" smile and he caught on right away—the smart boy. He lowered his head, eyes twinkling, only to gasp when she wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him with all the hunger he'd enflamed in her by showing off naked for so many hours.

"Tease," she said, sliding his hands down to give that wonderful ass of his a hard squeeze before pulling away.

"Who's the tease?" he said, reaching for her. She only grinned and dodged his arms, laughing and running for the house when he chased after her.

* * *

Crispin didn't stay up late with his brother that night. Kate returned from a short wash up in the bathroom to find him waiting for her in the bedroom.

He hadn't posed himself "just so" on the bed, or stripped down as he had earlier, as if to draw her like a blinded moth to an incredibly hot flame. No, this wasn't a seduction; it was meeting. An invitation she could accept or deny—if for some reason she'd gone insane and changed her mind. It only made her want him more.

His hands were hanging at his sides when she came in, but at the sight of her, he folded them over his chest, then seemed to think better of it and let them fall again. Such nervous fidgeting from such a strong man twisted her heart and made Kate smile, and she closed the distance to put her sweet, insecure gladiator out of his misery. She wasn't sure where her earlier hesitation had gone—back to the future without her perhaps—but she couldn't say she wasn't glad to be rid of it. Guilt or not, permanent or not, she wanted to enjoy this man while she could.

He wrapped his arms around her the second she was close enough, and though his hold was firm, the kiss he gave her when she lifted her head to him was so gentle she barely felt it. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, parting her lips for more and lapping at his own when he hesitated. As soon as he opened his mouth she was inside, licking, exploring, wanting more. But still he held back, and when he ran his hands up her spine she felt them shake.

"I feel like I'm taking advantage of you," she teased, leaving his mouth to press kisses along his jaw. In a whisper she asked, "Where has my ravaging gladiator gone to?"

She took his earlobe between her teeth and tugged. Crispin made strangled noise that was part laughter, part gasp.

"Ravage," he choked out as her hands started tugging at his clothes. "I don't want to ravage you, Kate. Not this time."

"Then what do you want to do with me?" she murmured, turning to steal another kiss from him. He unwound his arms from around her back and cupped her face, stalling her assault.

"I want to make love to you," he said.

She stopped. Blinked. Lamplight illuminated the hard angles of his face, the solemn look in his eyes. _Make love_. It was a term she'd never heard nor used in any of her previous relationships with men, few as there were. If any of them _had_ used it, she would've laughed and called it corny, or gotten mad and accused them of just trying to score extra points. But when Crispin said it, she felt the reverberations of the words inside her, beautiful and right like the echo of musical notes, perfectly pitched.

"Yes." She gripped his wrists and used the leverage to pull herself up, pull herself closer. "Yes. Make love to me, Crispin."

A shudder went through him and he slid his hands into her hair, whispering her name as his mouth closed over hers. And when his tongue stroked over her own, softly, languidly, she reined in the need that wanted to burn out fast and hot like falling star, and instead savored the fall.

Crispin undressed her so slowly that it took her a moment to realize with the last piece of cloth had fallen away. He backed her up to the bed, then caught her around the shoulders and waist to lower her onto the mattress, as if she would shatter should he let her fall with any kind of momentum. He paused only long enough to get rid of his own clothes then followed her down, easing himself over her and making them both catch their breaths as their naked bodies came into intimate contact for the first time.

They were really going to do this, Kate thought as Crispin trailed butterfly kisses down her throat. No more stalling or running. No more playing it safe.

Safe…. There was something about that, something she needed to remember. But then Crispin reached up to cup her breasts, thumbs circling her aching nibbles as he made one slow, well-aimed thrust against her—hitting just the right spot—and sparks lit up behind her eyes and her breath was lost, along with ability to think of anything but how much she needed him inside of her. Now.

She gripped him tighter, digging her heels into the mattress to rub more firmly against the hard length of him. Inside. Inside. She needed him _in_.

He growled and nipped at her collar, even then making sure to avoid her injury. "Have patience, Kate," he told her. "There's no rush."

Like hell there wasn't. She could practically hear her hormones threatening mutiny if she didn't get him to go faster, deeper. She could already imagine what it would feel like to have him enter her, have him come inside her...

Oh crap.

"Wait. Wait, Crispin. We need— _ahh_ ," She arched as he gave one of her nipples a teasing pinch. "A condom."

"No toys this time, Kate," he said, rising to take her mouth again. "Next time if you want." He gave her a deep, mind-melting kiss at the same time he employed another devastating thrust, making her legs curl up around his hips. Closer this time. _So close_.

But no, not yet. She had to get… "It's not a toy. It's protection."

"I will not hurt you Kate," he promised, not so much as pausing in his ministrations. "And I will protect you from anyone who tries to."

His hands were on her thighs now—when had he moved them?—and he was spreading her wider for… _Oh god, yes,_ _finally_ , she thought, instinctively lifting her hips as she felt the hard press of him against her entrance. Maybe just this once, it would be okay. Once without it surely couldn't hurt…

But that was such a stupid thought it actually brought her back a bit. She sunk back down onto the mattress, trying to get some space. But he had her where he wanted her now and he wasn't about to let her go so easily.

"No, not that kind of protection," she said, futilely attempting to squirm away as he caught her around the waist and pulled her back.

"Then what do you mean, love?"

_Love_.

"You know, something to block… well… something to catch—" She felt fingers brush over her and she sucked in a breath. Panicked she would break and never get it out, she blurted, "Something to use so I don't get pregnant, Crispin!"

His whole body went stiff. Kate didn't think she could've gotten his attention any better had she stabbed a knife into his gut. Considering the confused hurt in his eyes when he looked down at her, the analogy wasn't that far off.

He let her go and watched as she wriggled a few inches away from him. "What are you saying, Kate?"

"It's just… better safe than sorry, right? I mean, is contraception that hard to get here?" She tried to keep her voice light and teasing, but it wavered under his gaze, which was growing harder and more remote by the second. She hadn't expected such a dramatic reaction and it was scaring her. It was just a condom.

"Am I to understand that you find the idea of getting pregnant by me distasteful?" he asked, his voice growing cool along with their bodies as they continued to lay there.

" _What_? No, of course not. But I mean, there's just too many unknowns right now to even consider…. Maybe if… if certain things worked out. Maybe in the future…" Kate winced at the word choice. "We've only known each other for, well, I'm just not _ready_ for that kind of step yet, all right? I mean, you can't honestly want to have a child with me either already, can you?"

But she looked into his eyes and felt her heart plummet, because, oh god, he did want that; she saw it. It was all right there, the truth, his anger, shining through the cracks of his broken feelings.

Crispin shoved himself up of the bed and walked away. Kate sat up and grabbed for the bedsheet, flinging it around herself. She felt sick and shaky, and uncomfortable in her overheated skin with the haze of lust suddenly gone. Her mind was a mess of denials and incomprehension. There was no way he could…. It was too soon. Wasn't it?

She was almost sure it was.

Almost, almost sure.

"Crispin…." She hadn't the slightest idea what she should say, so she went with the simplest. "Crispin, I'm sorry. Please talk to me."

He kept his back to her as he replied, "What is there to say? You've made your feelings quite plain. Apparently you can only stand to let me bed you properly if you have _protection_ against conceiving my child."

_Bed you_. Not, _make love to you_. Not anymore.

"I didn't mean to insult you," she said. "I didn't think either of us were at that point yet, and it's a common thing to ask for where I come from."

"And where is that, exactly? This distant land that's so advanced it's commonplace to ask for such things?"

He faced her now. Kate looked at him helplessly. "I… I can't tell you that."

"Secrets and lies," he muttered, and the expression on his face was so bitter she could hardly stand to look at it. "Here I thought you were different from the others, but I can see now that I was wrong all along."

Kate felt liked he'd slapped her. "Are you trying to compare me with those sluts you used to sleep around with? I am _nothing_ like them!"

"No?" He stalked towards her. "They came to me for pleasure and that's all they wanted. Not in their lives, not in their hearts. How are you any different, Kate?" He threw his accusations at her like stones, and they landed way too close to the mark for comfort.

"You know I don't just want you for… for pleasure," Kate said, shifting under the weight of so much guilt. "And I _would_ like it, if you were in my life. But things are just… they're such a _mess_ right now. All I'm trying to do is keep either of us from getting hurt. Something I'm failing at, clearly."

He snorted and crossed his arms. "Clearly."

She glared up at him. "But _don't_ say I don't care about you, because that is just a flat-out lie and you know it. Just because I'm not ready for something like, like children—" She swallowed. "—You have no right to get angry at me for that."

Crispin blew out a harsh breath and ran both hands through his hair. Watching him make such a familiar, endearing gesture while still so gloriously naked had her lust peeking around the corner to see if it was safe to return, but she shoved it back out. The mood was officially dead, possibly for good.

"Is that all you need then, Kate?" he asked finally, still sounding dejected but not quite so angry anymore. "More time?"

_Yes. About two thousand years worth_ , she wanted to say, but she restrained herself to a nod.

He stared at her for long moment, and she did her best to convey her sincerity through the silence, afraid to ruin things even more by trying to explain again.

Eventually he looked away. "You have it then."

Some of her tension lifted, and her body shook as if exhausted from holding up some great weight. "Thank you," she choked out.

Crispin nodded and started collecting his clothes. She didn't need to ask why.

"I'll leave," she said, rising up. "I'm the one that should—"

He cut her off. "No."

"But—"

"No," he said again. "Even I am not such a bastard as to make you give up your bed."

"It's your bed, though, isn't it?" she said, sinking back down onto it. "And you're not a bastard. _I'm_ the one—"

He crossed the room in three long strides and knelt down in front of her. He took her chin between his fingers and tipped her head up. There was still anger lingering deep in his eyes that hurt her to look at, but she forced herself not to flinch.

"I do not want to play the 'who is more guilty' game," he told her. "You're frustrating the hell out of me, yes, but I am not blameless, so let me make amends the only way I know how."

"By leaving me?" she whispered.

"By giving you space," he corrected. "And time. That is what you want, isn't it?"

What she wanted was _him_ , back in bed with her. A bed in the year 2011 with a decent bathroom down the hall and her brother only a phone call away. With ready transportation that didn't have legs or stop to crap every half hour. With proper police so she didn't have to be terrified of being attacked every time she or Crispin let their guard down. With medical care, so that if she _did_ get pregnant, she wouldn't live in fear of something going wrong, or of winding up alone without family if the father decided to abandon her nine months in.

She wanted the best of both worlds, she realized. But at this rate, she was going to wind up with neither.

When she didn't answer, he nodded, as if she had, and kissed her much too chastely. Then he was gone, and she was alone in a bed that smelled like Crispin, and had been warmed by Crispin, but had no Crispin in it because of her.

She threw herself down, smothered her face into a pillow, and screamed until she no longer felt like crying. Only then was she able to settle down and try to sleep.

It was a very long time in coming.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

It was only the second dream he'd had about his sister since she went missing. Lack of sleep contributed to this, Jason was sure—the few times he'd succumbed to weariness, even his subconscious had needed the rest, it seemed—but now here she was again, like a round-cheeked ghost prepared to haunt him.

They were standing in the middle of the playground they used to visit when they were young. There was a rusted jungle gym behind Kate, and a baseball field minus the bases off to their left. The ground was more dirt than grass and the few trees strong enough to withstand the more adventurous children had gum and other, indefinable, things wedged into the cracks of the bark.

It was exactly how Jason remembered it, besides that it was deserted.

The sun hung low in the horizon, a burned orange color with the night sky bleeding in around it. Stars early to arrive scattered themselves across the dark expanse like spectators angling for a good spot. Kate stood beneath them wearing an odd, purple dress. Pretty, but not a style he'd ever seen her wear before. Her face was upturned just slightly. It was impossible to say what she was focused on, if anything. She hadn't noticed him yet.

How easily she appeared to him here, Jason marveled. No thinking or searching required to find her, no praying or begging. He just closed his eyes and _bam_ , _ta-da_ , y _ou're welcome_.

The police were out of leads. Any day now, Jason knew he would get the call. They would be polite—sympathetic if he was lucky—as they told him there wasn't anything else they could do. He'd heard that too many times arguing with the doctors about his mother. He couldn't stand the thought of listening to the police say it about his sister too.

She looked over at him suddenly, though he hadn't done or said anything to get her attention. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped. Such an open, goofy expression was much more like the woman he knew than the wistful creature he'd been watching.

He walked over to her—because she seemed too shocked to do anything but stare—and when he pulled her into his arms she finally reacted, gasping and clutching at him as if she'd never let him go.

And then she started to cry.

"Is it really you?" she asked through her tears.

"Of course," he answered, wishing he could say the same for her. He was glad he knew it was a dream, though. It wasn't often your subconscious allowed for that kind of clarity, and at least this way he could appreciate the dream while he was having it.

"I don't know what to do," she cried. "I've never felt so lost in my life."

Jason hugged his twin tighter. "Tell me."

And she did.

Jason knew things rarely made sense in dreams. Your surroundings could change at the drop of a hat or you might not have any surroundings at all. Your teeth could fall out for no reason or your legs might stop working (usually when you needed them the most). Your friends, relatives, or even pets might not look like themselves, and yet you still recognized them. In this case, Kate looked the same physically, sounded the same, but everything she was babbling was complete nonsense, and not like her at all.

For one, she thought she was stuck back in time. Centuries ago. It explained the outfit, but it was not something he would've ever imagined her saying. Kate was the practical one, and though he'd spent days tormenting himself with theories of what might've happened to his beloved sister, getting trapped in ancient Rome was not one of them. For another thing—and this disturbed him more than her supposed whereabouts—she was panicked over losing some guy who he thought might be called Crispy-ness. What was he, the emperor of chips? And Kate never panicked about a man, unless it was how fast she could ditch him.

Why would he dream about his sister having man troubles? Especially at a time like this.

"And now he has to go to court or something over that stupid necklace," Kate said, swiping at her tears. "And if they find him guilty he'll be forced back into slavery—"

"Wait, what necklace?"

She huffed at him in frustration. "That gaudy ruby necklace Dad gave me that I gave to Crispin. Pay attention, Jason! You could wake up any second!"

"Wake up?" Odd that she would know it was a dream too.

She smacked his arm.

"Ow!"

"You're the one doing this," she told him. "It was the same way the last time."

"The last time?"

"The last time we met! Remember, in the restaurant?"

He did, now that he thought about it. That had been a weird dream too.

"You wanted to name the baby Elizabeth after Mom," Kate pressed when he didn't respond quickly enough. "Because of her eyes."

"Oh yeah. You chastised me for it."

"I did, you sentimental idiot. And I still say it was a foolish decision, though very sweet of you."

He laughed. "Now _this_ sounds more like you."

"Jason, it _is_ me!"

"Of course it is." He rested a placating hand on her shoulder and led her over to a row of swings. She sank down onto one and buried her face in her hands. "This is impossible."

"No it isn't. Anything is possible in a dream," he said cheerfully, giving her a small push. "Which, as you've pointed out, this is."

"You're an idiot."

He only laughed and pushed her higher. He liked this version of his sister better. He didn't know what made his mind cook up that initial weepy one, scared over losing some guy with a stupid name, but she was acting much more normal now. That's all he wanted out of this dream, time to tease and laugh with his twin like he used to. Not watch her cry like she might really be doing god-knows-where while the police shrugged and moved on.

If she was even still able to cry.

Christ, at this rate he'd be as maudlin as her.

On her backswing, he grabbed one of the chains and tugged. Kate shrieked as the swing jerked into a crooked swerve through the air, nearly dislodging her from her seat and pulling Jason off his feet. He laughed as he caught his balance and she smiled seemingly despite herself. It faded, though, as they came to a stop.

"What do I do, Jason?"

"About the court thing? No idea," he said honestly.

"I can't get home."

He crouched down in front of her and took her hands in his. "I'm going to find you," he promised her, because even if this was just a dream, he needed her to hear it, to know that he wasn't giving up.

"And if I'm lost to history?"

"Like the ark of the covenant? You might be getting on in years, Kate, but I'd hardly consider you a relic yet."

He caught her punch before it made impact with his face.

"Watch yourself, dear brother," she said with false sweetness. "This isn't real. I can hit you as hard as I want without worry."

"It won't matter. I'll still look dreamy," he said with a grin.

"You deserve to be beaten just for that." But she smiled all the same before growing serious again. "What do I do about Crispin?"

"My sister wants relationship advice from me. Now I _know_ this is dream."

She made to hit him again but Jason dodged, losing his balance and landing on his butt in the dirt. Kate toppled off her swing and onto the ground beside him.

"I'm serious," she said, blowing hair out of her face. "I don't know what to do!"

Why was his mind stuck on this? And if he was going to dream about his sister being obsessed over some guy, why couldn't he come up with a better name for the man?

"Do you love him?" he asked. Might as well see how deep this insanity went, if he had going to go along with it.

"I… I don't know." But she sounded more defensive than confused.

Jason smirked. _Someone_ , he thought, _is in denial._

"Well, the first thing you need to do is figure that out," he told her. "Once you know that, the next step is simple."

"And that step is?"

He shrugged. "If you don't love him, you leave."

"And if I do… love him?" The poor girl could barely say it and they were being hypothetical. Hypothetically.

Jason took Kate by the arm and together they got to their feet. He smiled down at her. "Then you love him."

She glared. "That is not an answer!"

"Yes it is. You just don't understand it yet."

"Damn you, Jason—"

The ground lurched. Jason stumbled and Kate caught him. Her knuckles were white as she gripped his arm and yet he couldn't feel her hand at all. Odd.

"You're waking up," she said, and she looked so distressed he wanted to reassure her, but he his mouth didn't seem to want to work anymore either.

Overhead, the sun and the stars vanished, leaving the sky black and empty, though the light remained the same. The ground heaved again and they both fell this time. He slipped free from Kate's grasp and she yelled his name, along with something he couldn't hear because now there was a ringing in his ears, and he was rolling as if down a hill but there _were_ no hills here to roll down and then—

_Thump_.

He hit the floor hard. Above him, the phone continued to ring. He cursed and reached up, knocking his wallet and glasses off the bedside table before managing to lift the handset.

"'Lo?"

"This is your eight o'clock wake up call, Mr. Gray," said the formal, accented voice of the hotel's desk clerk.

"Oh. Oh yes. Okay, thank you."

"Have a nice day, sir."

"You too."

They hung up. He dropped the phone back onto its cradle and felt around for his glasses. He put them on, grabbed his wallet, and stood.

"Sleep well?"

He looked over and was tempted to curse again. Paul was watching him from what passed for the hotel room's dining area. It consisted mostly of a two-chair table in the corner and a stubby bit of counter space that was half taken up with a microwave, and half by the mini-fridge Paul had long since emptied of all its alcoholic beverages.

Jason scowled at him. His father was still determined to stay until Kate was found, but with nothing to do but wait and worry, he often turned to drink to pass the time. And if he couldn't sleep that time included, but was not limited to, the first hours of daylight.

Since that first drunken night he'd gotten Paul his own room down the hall, but every morning Jason woke up to find the man back in his, sometimes with coffee, sometimes with more booze, but always more chatty than he could stand at such an early hour.

This morning Paul had brought coffee, which meant that he was comparatively sober, a blessing indeed these days. Jason rose and dug out a pair of pants to pull on over his rumpled boxers before joining him at the table.

"You were muttering in your sleep," his father told him conversationally as he handed him his cup. That he didn't launch immediately into his usual ranting about the useless police and what he was going to do with the son-of-a-bitch who'd taken his daughter, told Jason the man was having a relatively optimistic morning.

"Bad dream?"

"Not bad, I think. Strange." Jason dropped into the chair across from him and cradled his cup against his chest. "Kate was in it."

"Oh?"

Jason sipped his coffee. Paul was pitiably predictable when it came to his estranged daughter. Any story or anecdote related to her, however indirectly, he wanted to hear about. In the interest of keeping the man happy a little while longer, Jason decided to indulge him. "We were talking about what she was doing. Where she was."

"Understandable."

"Yeah. But the thing was, she said she was stuck."

"Stuck?"

"In ancient Rome."

"Stuck in ancient Rome." Paul chuckled, but his humor was tinged with sadness. "Perhaps you've been wandering through too many tourist attractions looking for her."

"Maybe." Jason took another sip. "She also kept going on about some guy. Crisps, Crispers, something like that. She really seemed head over heels for him. But she hates men."

"It's not just me then?" Paul asked. He said it as a joke, but the pain in his eyes was clear to see.

"Well, the case with you is a bit different," Jason said wryly.

"Yes. Her running away from me is justified," said Paul. "It hurts, but I understand why she wants nothing to do with me. Honestly, it's _you_ who surprises me."

" _Me_?"

His father nodded. "You forgave me so easily back then. And you've stuck around to try and help me make amends with your sister. I've never figured out why you decided to fight so hard for me."

"I'm a man of mystery, I guess."

"That's it? Can you at least tell me why?"

"Because you're family?" Jason tried.

"I'd believe that more if it hadn't come out as a question."

Jason grinned. "Because life's too short?"

"Again, a question."

He blew out a breath. "Why do you care so much?"

"Curiosity mostly," Paul admitted. "You're a nice boy, but even _you_ are not that altruistic, especially when helping me upsets your sister so much. _Upset_ your sister…"

"Don't start phrasing things in the past-tense," said Jason in warning. "There's no reason for it."

"Of course not." the man bobbed his head in quick apology. "It's just early. I didn't mean it. As soon as we can whip these cops into gear I'm sure we'll find her."

Jason grunted and went back to his coffee. A few minutes passed in awkward silence, then Paul said, "So, I still don't know _why_ —"

Jason dropped his cup onto the table with a heavy _plunk_. Thank God for the lid, or it would have splattered everywhere. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"I've got nothing else to fill my day."

He sighed, resigned. Out in the hall, he could hear the squeaky wheel of some maid's cleaning supply cart as she went past.

"Kate would say it's because, as a man, I can't sympathize enough to hate you like I should."

"But that's not it."

Jason smiled. "She might be right, a little bit. I don't know. But I never thought of you as a villain like she did. I didn't think about you much at all, to be honest. We struggled, but you leaving wasn't the only reason why we had to. Kate would kill me for saying this, but our mother was partly to blame for it too. She didn't have to leave home like she did, or hook up with you, though I'm glad for that bit impulsiveness, since Kate and I wouldn't be here if she hadn't. You weren't an answer or an excuse to me, and as far as I was concerned, there was no point looking back on something I couldn't see. We were where we were and all I wanted was to get my mother and sister someplace better, so that's what I did. Or… what I tried to do."

He glanced at his father to see how he was taking it so far. Paul nodded for him to go on.

"When you came back with your apologies, I could tell that you were genuinely regretful and that was good enough for me. But I probably wouldn't have gotten as involved with you as I did if it wasn't for Kate." Jason rubbed the cup between his hands, focusing on the slow roll of it and not the solemn old man in front of him. "I don't care about what you have and haven't done, but she does, and all the resentment she's inherited from our mother is affecting how she socializes with others, men especially. She avoids serious relationships like they're a plague, going so far as to take some crap traveling job just so she can have an excuse to stay away. Look at this place!" Jason let go of his coffee to wave his hands at the room. "My sister is _literally_ living out of a suitcase just so she can avoid risking her heart. It kills me to watch her keep fleeing like this."

"So by helping me…" Paul said slowly.

"I was trying to help _her_." Jason slouched back in his chair. "Her distrust stems from you. Indirectly, but it does. I had hopes that if she could work things out with you, she could stop all this running." He gave a bitter snort. "A great idea that was. I pushed her too hard and now she's run so far no one can find her."

"Maybe that's why you dreamed about her being in love with some guy," his father suggested. His tone was mild, and he didn't seem about to make any comment on Jason's secret motives, whatever his feelings about them were. Jason was just as happy to not discuss it.

Maybe," he agreed. "Though I don't know why I would imagine her finding someone with legal trouble."

That shocked a laugh from Paul. "What?"

"She said he was wrongly accused of stealing some necklace from her, that apparently she got from you as a gift." He frowned. "Hey, you mentioned something about a necklace the other night, didn't you?"

"I vaguely recall…" his father said. He sounded a bit winded.

"Geez, what the mind digs up, right?" Jason elbowed him, trying to lighten the man's mood. But Paul ignored his son's prodding.

"Did she say… what it looked like?"

Jason thought back. "She said it was some gaudy ruby."

His father sucked in a breath. "I never told you that. I know I never… It's an accurate description yes, but that's not the way I would have ever phrased…"

"What are you talking about?"

"The necklace!" his father exclaimed. "How did she know? It's _your_ dream! She shouldn't have known if you didn't know!"

"Wait—are you saying that's _right_?" Jason asked, flummoxed. "But that's…"

" _Is it really you?"_

" _Pay attention, Jason! You could wake up any second!"_

" _You're the one doing this. It was the same way the last time."_

All her weird little comments came flooding back to him. He'd assumed it was just the craziness of the dream, but—

" _I don't know what to do. I've never felt so lost in my life."_

" _I can't get home."_

It wasn't possible, was it? He liked to think he was a very open-minded person, but this was just too far-fetched.

Jason tried to look at the facts; they didn't help. The police were at a loss. No one was using Kate's credit cards or phone. No one had called in a ransom. There were no signs of foul play in her hotel room, and no witnesses had come forward to report anything suspicious or helpful. And the link he'd always had to his sister was gone. It wasn't because she was dead—he was still adamant that he would've felt such a violent severing. But it wasn't like a phone signal if she traveled out of area, or through a tunnel, or went into a building with a metal roof. There were no dead zones for something like this.

Or at least, none he knew of.

" _And if I'm lost to history?"_

Paul had gotten to his feet and was heading for the door. "I need a drink," he said.

Jason jumped up and followed him.

For the first time, he was in complete agreement.

* * *

Crispinus returned to his room early that morning for a change of clothes and found Kate in the middle of some kind of nightmare.

She shifted restlessly in the bed, tears leaking from under her lashes. Crispinus would've flattered himself that she was upset about _him_ if she hadn't abruptly cried out some other man's name—Jason!—and jerked awake.

She noticed him immediately, standing in the middle of the doorway as he was.

"Who's Jason?" he asked.

Her face crumpled and she buried it in a pillow.

Crispinus wasn't deterred. He'd thought about it long and hard last night, and he'd been wrong to lash out as he had and accuse her of using him. Kate did care about him. The still-healing scar across her chest and collar was his biggest—though not his only—evidence of that. But this distance she was keeping between them was driving him mad, and to come in here now and find her dreaming about another man, _crying_ over another man… it made Crispinus want to beat something, preferably this Jason.

"Who is he, Kate?"

She let out a shuddering breath and lifted her head. She was doing this to herself, keeping all these secrets, keeping her distance, even though it caused them both pain. Crispinus wanted to shake her. _Tell me something. Tell me_ anything. _Just talk to me!_

"He's my brother," she whispered.

Crispinus was so surprised to get a straight answer from her that for a moment he could only stand there and stare. But then it penetrated: brother. He was only her brother. Not a lover or a husband. Thank the gods.

"Do you miss him very much?"

Her lower lip quivered, but she bit down on it and it stopped. "Yes. He's the only family I have left. Him and his wife, Sarah."

"Much like me, then."

She looked up at him in surprise. "I never thought of it that way. But you're right. We have something in common, I guess."

"We have more than that in common, Kate, if you would but see it."

She blushed and looked away. So stubborn.

He sighed but crossed the room to kneel beside the bed. He wanted to slip under the covers with her. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away the tears still trickling down her cheeks, then make love to her until she was forced to let go of all this misery. But she still wanted to hold onto it, and he was done offering himself until she was ready to offer what he needed in return: herself, completely and forever.

"We could always visit him," Crispinus told her. "After this business with Cato is settled."

Her eyes went huge at that. Perhaps she realized how great a concession he was making for her. He'd come to a decision about that last night as well. Keeping Kate away until he'd claimed her for himself wasn't going to work. She was too distracted over everything she'd lost. Maybe it was closure she needed in order to move on. Of course, there was also the problem of—

"We can't. Crispin it's—"

"'Almost impossibly far,' so you've said." He ran a hand through his hair and looked at her. "I am not opposed to a bit of traveling, Kate, if you are up to it. And if you don't know how to get there, we can search, and enjoy ourselves along the way until we find it."

"But it would take—"

"Months? Years? It doesn't matter. I do not care where we go, Kate, or where we stay, as long as you are happy and I am there to see you happy." And then, because he felt himself flush at her gaping, he added gruffly, "Is that understood?"

She nodded, eyes welling with fresh tears.

Much to Crispinus' relief, Annia appeared then to ask Kate about breakfast. When she saw how upset Kate was, she was by her side instantly, demanding to know what was wrong. Kate told her she was just homesick. _Just homesick_ , as if that came anywhere near to describing this crippling sadness of hers.

Annia told her about a temple she liked to go to when she was feeling sad, and though it was a bit farther than the river, the way was safe and easy to travel if she would like to go.

"I would accompany you if I could," Annia said regretfully, "but I fear that officious husband of mine would lock me up in the wine cellar until the day I delivered if I dared to try."

Kate said that was fine and she'd loved to go if Annia could make her a good map. Crispinus didn't offer to go with her, and Kate didn't ask. She parted twenty minutes later after an awkward goodbye and Crispinus watched her leave, then went to find his brother in the kitchen. Despite Annia initially coming to get Kate for breakfast, the woman was nowhere around.

"Where is your wife?" he asked.

Drusus gestured vaguely towards the peristylium. "She took her food and left. She's still a bit angry with me this morning."

"Still?" said Crispinus.

"We argued last night."

"Over?"

His brother scowled at him. "What else? She's due in less than a month and yet she still insists on acting as if—" His voice started to rise and he cut himself off. More calmly, he said, "She takes too many risks."

"She seems healthy enough to me," Crispinus said, surprised at how upset Drusus looked.

"Yes, well, she always does right up until—" he cut himself off again, face reddening.

"Right up until what?" whispered Crispinus.

"Nothing." Drusus shoved away from the table and stood. Crispinus blocked his way when he tried to leave, grabbing him by the shoulders to hold him still.

"What has been going on in my absence, brother?" he said.

His sibling tried to shove him off. If they'd been younger, he would've been able to dislodge Crispinus easily. It was not so anymore.

Finally, Drusus gave up and looked at him. "We've been trying for years now to have a child. This is our third… attempt. The previous two were little boys who didn't so much as manage a first breath before leaving us for Elysium. This last time, I thought for sure Annia was going to leave me too."

Crispinus was so shocked his almost lost his hold. Drusus used the moment of weakness to jerk free, but Crispinus caught him again as he tried to force his way out the door.

"Why didn't you tell me? Damn it, Drusus! In all of your letters you never mentioned—"

"What was I to say?" his brother roared. "There was nothing you could do."

"That doesn't matter! We're family. Your pain is mine."

"Is that how it is now? Because I don't recall any ill-tidings in any of _your_ letters, brother. All flowers and gold at that coliseum of yours, was it?"

Crispinus gritted his teeth. "You know it was not."

"And yet all I received were superficial tales of battles and womanizing. Is it any wonder I was reticent to scribble out my hardships to you? You, the brother with seemingly none?"

Crispinus cursed. He'd never confided in his older brother about the hardships he went through, the disillusionment and the heartbreak, because Drusus had warned him before he left that being a gladiator wasn't worth it, and that he would be lucky to live to regret the choice, and Crispinus had been too young and arrogant at the time to admit he'd been right. It had never occurred to him that by pretending everything was fine, he'd pressured his brother into doing the same.

"I'm sorry," he said to him now. "I should've been honest with you when things got bad. They're… well, they're pretty damned messed up right now too, if that makes you feel any better."

"You mean with Cato?"

"Him also. But no, with Kate."

His brother made thoughtful noises, finally relaxing a bit under Crispinus' grip. "She is an odd one, but she seems genuine. What's wrong with her?"

And Crispinus told him. How he found her and how, at first, she couldn't speak Latin. How she missed her family and didn't believe she could go home. When he told Drusus about her getting her memories back after being attacked, Drusus frowned. "But how did she lose her memories in the first place? And how did she get to Rome if her home is so far away?"

No longer afraid his brother would bolt, Crispinus released him. "I'm afraid to ask."

"Why?"

"Because—" He let out a gusty sigh. "Because I fear the loss of her memories—and her arrival to Rome also—may be my fault."

His brother stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed. "Don't be absurd! How in the world could that be your fault? You didn't even know the woman!"

Crispinus nodded. It did sound ridiculous that way. But—

"She was looking for someone, Drusus. And you didn't see her that first day, how desperately she searched the city. At the party, I was sure she'd spotted them, but it turned out just to be some random woman Kate had mistaken her for."

"So she was looking for a woman then."

Crispinus nodded. "And not just any woman. A finely dressed one with red hair."

"I still don't see how this connects to you."

"When Kate was hurt, I found help at a nearby villa, and the woman turned out to be an old acquaintance of mine. When Kate realized who had helped her, she became very upset."

Drusus tone was dry. "I can see why she might be."

"But that's just it. It wasn't because of the woman's relationship to me. She wasn't even aware of that until I told her."

"So you're saying Kate must've known her some other way. And not a pleasant one."

"Yes."

"And this woman also had red hair?"

Crispinus nodded, remembering Kate's words: _"Don't you know who that woman_ is _? What she's done to me?"_

"So you think she had something to do with Kate winding up in Rome in the state she did."

"Yes."

Drusus rolled his eyes. "And you didn't think to just _ask_ her?"

"I couldn't bear to," Crispinus said honestly, feeling shame gnaw at him. "I pretended her anger was all because the woman and I had been intimate, and when Kate dropped it I let her. Gladly."

"And what happened when Kate finally talked to her?"

"She didn't. The woman left and didn't come back the entire time we stayed there."

"That is a bit suspicious," Drusus admitted. "But even if this mysterious woman _is_ responsible for Kate's misfortunes, it still doesn't mean it's your fault. It could just be coincidence that you know both."

"Maybe," Crispinus said doubtfully.

Drusus came forward and clapped him on the back. "Do you want my advice, brother?"

And Crispinus found, after so many years of working out his own problems, that he did, very much. "Yes."

"Forget about how she got here or why. Just appreciate that she landed in _your_ lap and not in some other man's, and focus now on keeping her there."

"And if she doesn't want to stay?"

Drusus gave him a sympathetic smile. "She wants to, brother, believe me. I've seen the way she looks at you. She might squirm and whine a bit, but if you did let her up she'd only pout and sit back down again."

Crispinus laughed. "One can hope."

There was a scuff of feet behind them. Both men turned to see Annia standing there, clasping her belly. The smile on her face was brilliant. "Drusus!"

Despite her obvious joy, Drusus looked concerned as he went to her. "What? Is it the baby?"

"Yes." And she took his hand and pressed it to her swollen stomach. "Feel that?"

His eyes went wide. "What—"

"He's kicking," Annia said, her voice bubbling with happiness. "None of the others did that. He's a strong one, Drusus."

Drusus made a strangled sound and went to his knees, pressing both hands against her. "Gods, I can feel it."

"He moves as if he can't wait to come out and see his father," Annia whispered.

Drusus kissed her stomach then rose to kiss her lips.

Crispinus slipped out to give them privacy. Would he and Kate ever share a moment like that? Perhaps _he_ was the one who should've gone to the temple.

To pray.

* * *

Kate looked up at one point on her way to the temple to find she was trailing her very own rain cloud.

It was small as far as rain clouds went, coalescing slowly with the other vaporous hitchhikers it picked up as it followed her. By the time she reached the temple's entrance, it had grown considerably and was engaged in a silent face-off with the sun. The great big ball of gas wasn't intimidated however, and the cloud let out a rumble as it unleashed its deluge onto the temple, and Kate, who ducked between the Corinthian columns holding up the pediment before more than a couple drops could hit her. She stood watching from the entrance for a few minutes, moved by sight of rain falling so heavily in the sunlight.

Then she ventured deeper inside the temple.

It was cooler here, though nowhere near cool enough to cause a chill. It was also empty, which Kate was thankful for. She was not fit right now to give explanations or make polite conversation. She just wanted to be alone. She had to think, but it wasn't easy when nothing made sense, not around her or within.

Seeing Jason again had been a shock, as had his words to her, the few that weren't teasing. And then she'd woken and Crispin had blown her away all over again with his compassion. What the hell was she doing? She thought she'd had it all worked out. Enjoy herself, but keep it light. Focus on getting home.

Now Kate wondered.

She reached the back of the temple. The only light came from the breaks in the columns. The clouds had finally made a move on the sun and it was darker now. She could hear the rain pattering against the roof. Thundered roared, a victorious battle cry. It looked like Drusus' drought had found a brief respite.

There was a statue ahead of her. Kate went to it, wondering if it would tell her whose temple this was. She could speak Latin now, but could she read it? She hadn't had a chance to see yet. Even Annia's map, made out of an old scrap of linen and grainy ink, was all pictures of landmarks and arrows.

The statue was life-sized, the woman obviously nude even at a glance. Kate looked at the marble base. There was a bowl of withered flowers—old offerings maybe?—and below that, words. Kate found that with a little effort she could read them, though recognition came slowly, like going back to a native language she hadn't used for years. It was a hymn, written by someone named Sappho:

_Iridescent-throned Aphrodite,_  
_Child of Zeus, wile-weaver, I now implore you,_  
_Don't—I beg you, Lady—with pains and torments  
_ _Crush down my spirit._

_Come to me once more, and abate my torment;_  
_Take the bitter care from my mind, and give me_  
_All I long for; Lady, in all my battles  
_ _Fight as my comrade._

_Deathless face alight with your smile, you ask me_  
_What I suffered, who was my cause of anguish,_  
_What would ease the pain of my frantic mind, and  
_ _Why had I called you_

_To my side: "And whom should_ _Persuasion_ _summon  
_ _Here, to soothe the sting of your passion this time?  
_ _Who is now abusing you? Who is  
_ _Treating you cruelly?_

_Now she runs away, but she'll soon pursue you;_  
_Gifts she now rejects—soon enough she'll give them;_  
_Now she doesn't love you, but soon her heart will  
_ _Burn, though unwilling."_

Kate stopped reading. The words made her feel faintly uncomfortable, though she couldn't say why. At least it told her who the statue was supposed to be. Aphrodite. Goddess of Love. Kate smirked and looked up at the face of the statue.

She choked on a cry and stumbled back. It was as if medusa had turned her nemesis to stone, then left her here as a gift. She recognized that disgustingly voluptuous body, those perfect cheekbones and strong jaw. She knew what color that magnificent mane of hair would be if not made of marble.

_The goddess of Love..._

Kate burst out laughing. It surged up with such force from inside her there was no way to hold it back. She laughed until her stomach cramped, until tears rolled, salty and hot, down her cheeks, until it was not longer funny and still she couldn't stop.

Outside, her little cloud, now ruler of the sky—at least for now—boomed with laughter too.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Persephone returned after a long morning tending to her plants to find Hades missing again.

The room where they normally met for lunch was empty. She tried not to leap to conclusions. She looked for a note, and when she didn't find one she searched out the servants who had prepared the meal and asked if Hades had left a message for her. The sympathetic knowing in those eyes as she listened to a murmured chorus of, "No, my goddess," was humiliating.

She had no one to blame but herself, Persephone thought as she stomped through the hall. She never had got around to confronting Hades about what he was up to. But— _augh_ , he'd been doing so well! Not a single shifty glance had she seen since her first attempt had led to… other things. She hadn't thought talking necessary any longer! Clearly, she'd been mistaken. And on top of everything, she'd misplaced her mirror, so she couldn't even watch the gladiator to get her mind off things.

After a few more minutes of stomping, she decided she needed to get out. A change of scenery was what she needed. If Hades came home before she got back, all the better. Let _him_ worry about where _she_ was for a change!

It seemed only natural to go to the pantheon. Resting atop the highest peak of Mount Olympus, it served as the neutral meeting ground for the gods and goddesses. Everything took place here: parties, domestic dispute settlements, war negotiations, parties, more war negotiations, parties...

When Persephone arrived the place was pretty sedate, most of the immortals still in bed, sleeping off the previous night's festivities. The pantheon was one giant open room with numerous alcoves for more private get-togethers. The floor was pieced with millions of colorful tiles depicting every god and goddess. In the corners there were silk couches to rest on, and along the right wall, a golden table heaped with every kind of food imaginable: sweet meat with honey; fish, bread and a variety of cheeses; figs, pears, and apples; goose, lamb, pheasant and boar, all roasted and seasoned to perfection. And of course, a giant bowl of ambrosia. Dionysus, she saw, lay passed out on the floor beneath it. That wasn't unusual; the god of celebration rarely made it back to his chambers, preferring instead to dance and drink until he passed out amidst the frivolity.

There was something crushed under one ruddy cheek. Persephone peered at it, then snorted when she realized what it was: a pillow.

At least he'd planned ahead this time.

Pillars lined the room, staggering in their height and width. They held up no ceiling, instead stretching themselves into a blue sky too light to be night and too dark to be day. The sun still shined, but so did the stars and the moon. The chambers of the gods and goddess were low enough on Mount Olympus that nature still ruled over weather and time, but not here.

Persephone passed the upraised dais where the empty thrones of Zeus and Hera were visible to all. Hermes sat on the dais steps, looking bored. She paused and he looked up.

"Do you have a message for Zeus or Hera?" he asked. His boyish face, so smooth and round, looked at her hopefully. The wings on his sandals gave an excited flutter.

"I'm afraid not," Persephone said.

"Oh." He slumped back; the little wings drooped.

But she continued to stand there, an idea slowly forming in her mind like a thunderhead. Hermes often served as errand boy and spy for the gods and goddesses. He was fast, inquisitive, and could get himself out of trouble even faster than he could get into it. Best of all, he could keep a secret. In a world where the only thing immortals valued more than tribute was gossip, Hermes was invaluable.

"I do have a mission for you, though, if you're interested," she said.

"Really?" He jumped to his feet, his sandal's wings flapping so fast he floated off the ground for several seconds before they calmed enough for him to land. "Of course I'm interested! What is it?"

Okay, so she hadn't come here intending to start a search. But she was so mad at Hades right now, the thought of confronting him no longer scared her. Now she was looking _forward_ to being able to vent her frustration and anger on him. And with the help of Hermes, she might be able to catch him in the act, which was even better.

Pitching her voice low in case of eavesdroppers, she said, "Hades has been sneaking away from the Underworld. I'm worried about him, but can't figure out where he's going. Can you help me?"

Hermes bobbed his head, eyes huge. Gods didn't leave their respective areas without a very good reason. Saying that Hades was leaving the Underworld was the same as saying Poseidon was moving to live on land, or that Aphrodite had decided to become a _vestalis_. It wasn't just "not done", it was unfathomable.

"I can find him," Hermes said. "Yes. Absolutely. I'll leave right away."

"Thank you, Hermes. And please, do not tell anyone of this."

"I won't," he promised.

After he was gone, Persephone got herself a drink—stepping carefully around Dionysus—and settled onto one of the more private couches to wait. Where _would_ he find Hades? Her love had few outside interests besides the gladiatorial games, and now that his favorite was gone he wouldn't—

The thought brought her up short. Was _that_ what this was about? Was Hades perhaps feeling bored after losing his best form of entertainment and was off looking for something else? There was no reason he should be so sneaky about that though…

"You call yourself the goddess of the hunt, using an arrow like that?"

The raised voice made Persephone jump. There was trio of people in the alcove to her right that she hadn't noticed. Ares and the twins, Artemis and Apollo, stood as close as three immortals could while still maintaining their personal space. The one who had spoken was Ares; he looked as disgusted as he sounded. "You're never going to catch any deer with such a sub-par instrument, Artemis."

Telling the goddess of the hunt which weapons she should use was something only the god of war would dare to do. Persephone watched Artemis grip her arrow in a way that said she would like nothing better than to start a war herself.

"Do not," she hissed at Ares, "criticize my weapons, you—"

"Peace!" Apollo exclaimed. He must have seen his sibling's death grip on her arrow as well. "I'm sure Ares only meant to help."

"Only _you_ would interpret condescension as being helpful," Artemis snapped. "Why did you invite him on our hunting trip anyway?"

"Because when it comes to battle, there is no one better," Ares said before Apollo could respond.

Artemis smirked. "Is that why the sides that prayed for you in the last three wars lost?"

"Aberrations," Ares growled.

"Consecutive aberrations?"

"Peace!" Apollo said again.

"Excuse me for attempting to educate you," Ares said, ignoring him. "Next time I will leave you to your ignorance."

"If only you were capable of keeping such a promise."

"I admit, sometimes the stupidity of others is just too much to stand."

"And you are _always_ too much to stand!" Artemis said. She raised her arrow and Persephone stiffened along with Apollo, but goddess of the hunt only stuffed it back into the quiver strapped between her shoulder blades.

Movement across the room caught Persephone's eye. The thick vines of purple flowers that hid the entranceway to the lower chambers of Mount Olympus parted to the side and none other than Demeter stepped through. Her long blonde hair was braided and wrapped around her head like a crown. Her robes were a humble brown, but still artfully draped over her slim shoulders. She carried herself with such dignity, she made the three immortals arguing look like children.

Persephone was half off her seat before she managed to stop herself. As much as she would love to go to her mother, she was too emotional for it. If she, in any way, gave away that she was upset with her lover, Demeter would raise Hades—by his long beautiful throat. She was ever her daughter's champion against the god of the Underworld, and would only be too happy to do him some damage. No, it was best to stay away for now. Persephone would go to her later, once things were finally settled and she wouldn't feel like cheering her mother on.

She waited until Demeter had her back to her before slipping away. She wasn't ready to return to the Underworld quite yet, so she ducked through the doorway her mother had come through and made her way down the darkened hallway to Aphrodite's room.

As she drew close to the door, she could here the sounds of giggling and deeper-pitched male laughter coming from within. Persephone rolled her eyes and knocked. "Aphrodite? It's Persephone."

The laughter cut off. There were shushing noises from both parties, and then she heard her friend's breathless voice call out, "Come in, Spring!"

Already regretting the visit, Persephone went in.

She looked to the bed first, because, well, Aphrodite was the goddess of Love and that's where Persephone usually found her when she was… entertaining. But the bed was empty. Empty, and neatly made. She'd never seen that before. "Aphrodite?"

"Out here!" Through the curtains separating the bedroom from the balcony, she saw a familiar curvy silhouette waving at her. Persephone stepped through the curtains.

Aphrodite was sitting at the table where they had their weekly breakfast gatherings. A mortal man sat next to her. He stood at Persephone's entrance and bowed. "Goddess."

He had so many scars covering his body he looked like someone had sliced him into pieces then put him back together again. Persephone had the strongest urge to vanish his tunica and see if any part of his poor body had been spared, but managed to resist, if only just. He looked vaguely familiar…

"Scipio, this is Persephone, goddess of Spring," said Aphrodite. "Persephone, this is Scipio, a former gladiator."

Scipio made another bow. Persephone gaped. "The gladiator you got from the party?"

Like that, Aphrodite's expression turned carefully aloof. "Maybe."

"Athena is going to kill you."

The mortal looked at Aphrodite. "What is she talking about?"

"Nothing. Sit down, Scipio. It's all right."

Persephone snorted. Aphrodite shot her a look. "A few more days won't hurt."

"And how many days have you been saying that?"

Aphrodite broke out into a sheepish smile. "A few."

Persephone mentally threw up her hands took a seat across from her.

And jumped back up with a yelp.

She looked at her chair. It was covered in now-squished grapes. They were all over the table and on the ground as well. "What have you two been doing?"

"Catching grapes. Those are all from me." Aphrodite gestured to the mess. "I'm not very good. Scipio, however, is excellent. Watch this." She picked a grape from out of the fruit bowl in front of her and threw it high into the air. Scipio weaved like a snake as it came down, tracking the fall, then caught it in his mouth. Aphrodite clapped. "Isn't he great?"

Persephone stared at her friend.

"Where have you been, anyway?" Aphrodite asked, faking a pout. "I needed you're help a couple days ago."

"I've been… busy," said Persephone, not wanting to get into it with the mortal present. She brushed away the grapes and sat. "What did you need help with?"

"Nothing much. Just rescuing the gladiator's soulmate from a fatal injury, that's all."

" _What?_ " Persephone nearly came out of her seat again. "She was injured? How?"

"Random attack, I think, on the gladiator. She was hurt defending him—so sweet. But she's fine now."

"Who are we talking about?" asked Scipio.

"The gladiator, Crispinus," said Aphrodite, "and his woman, Katelyn."

He blinked. "You two are watching them? Why?"

"Curiosity, I suppose. We did get them together." And before Persephone could stop her, Aphrodite told him about Hades' initial interest, about finding Crispinus' soulmate, and the excitement of going to the future to retrieve her.

"So you're the ones who sent Kate to him." Scipio gave a triumphant laugh. "Ha! I knew it!"

What was that supposed to mean? wondered Persephone. "Shall we check on them?" she asked.

"Of course," said Aphrodite.

But as she brought up the mirror, Persephone found herself watching her friend instead—who was, more often then not, watching the gladiator—who snuck repeated glances back at her. _His_ infatuation was obvious and understandable; it was Aphrodite's actions that were baffling.

The goddess of Love didn't keep mortals. She used them and discarded them, courteously but promptly. And she certainly didn't take such risks just so she could play silly games with them.

"I cannot hear what they are saying," Scipio complained.

"Of course not," Aphrodite said, "it's just a mirror. Though I admit it is a bit annoying," she added in a mutter.

The complaint had Persephone focusing on the scene for the first time. "Where are they?"

"The consul's," said Scipio.

"Where they had the party," said Aphrodite.

_Where_ _this_ _problem_ _with_ _you_ _two_ _started,_ Persephone wanted to say, but didn't.

She watched as Aphrodite chucked a grape at the back of Scipio's head. It bounced off his short-cropped hair and he started and looked back at her. Aphrodite pasted an innocent expression onto her face, but he must not have bought it because he did something to her under the table that made her squeak and glare at him. He laughed and turned his attention back to the mirror. Aphrodite looked over at Persephone, grinned, and mouthed, "Isn't he adorable?"

Persephone nodded. What else could she do? She had her own relationship problems at the moment without taking on Aphrodite's as well. And it _was_ a problem, whether her friend realized it or not. Athena's not-inconsiderable wrath aside, gods and mortals simply could not get on long term. It was more than impractical; it was impossible.

The goddess of Love was setting herself up for a romantic tragedy.

* * *

"So I take it you haven't come back to accept my offer." The Consul's tone was sulky.

Crispinus smothered a smile. "No, my lord."

Hardalio grunted. Once again, they were in his atrium, seated this time. Above them, the gilded edges of the open roof framed the afternoon sky like a living painting. Clouds still reigned as they had for the past two days since the first deluge. Crispinus was just thankful the weather had held during the ride back to the city.

"What are you here for, then?" said Hardalio.

"There is a legal matter I would like your help with."

The Consul leaned back in his chair with a smirk. "Already getting yourself into trouble, I see. It's because of that woman of yours, isn't it?"

Just the mention of Kate had Crispinus looking for her, though Hardalio's boys had absconded with her the second greetings had been finished—Lucan leading the way—and she was no longer in sight.

Kate had returned from the temple that evening as sedate as Crispinus had ever seen her. She hadn't looked upset. More like… thoughtful. She'd been quiet all through supper, and afterwards had slipped away so silently that he hadn't even noticed her disappearance until he'd glanced over and found her gone.

When Crispinus had finally retired for the night, he hadn't dared go say goodnight to her. Instead he'd made directly for the spare bedroom he'd used the night before. It was going to be hard enough saying goodbye to her in the morning, with the future so uncertain and so much left unresolved between them. He'd thought Kate had been of the same mind, which was why when she appeared an hour later, Crispinus had thought at first that he was dreaming. But no, he was awake, and she was standing before his bed with that thoughtful look still on her face.

"I'm going with you tomorrow," she said.

Much of the tension—and he admitted it, the hope—drained out of him at her words. _That's_ why she'd come? He sighed. Looking back, he'd been foolish not to expect it.

"We already decided that you were staying."

"Is this a new thing, referring to yourself in the plural like an emperor?" Her twinkling eyes reflected his scowl. " _We_ decided no such thing. I said I would think about it, and I have. Risky or not, I'm your best chance at proving your innocence, so I'm going with you."

When he continued to glare at her in mutinous silence, she put a hand on the mattress and leaned over so that they were nose to nose, gaze challenging. Lust boiled fast and hot through his veins at the sight of that sweet face daring him to try her.

"Don't leave me here," she whispered to him. "If I wake up and find you gone, I _will_ follow you, all the way to the city if I have to. Don't think I won't."

His heart clenched even as pleasure seized him. She would go so far—argue with a gladiator more than twice her size, threaten to chase him through dangerous lands, insist on putting herself at the mercy of an unforgiving court—just to keep him safe? If she cared about him enough to do all that, then _why_ did she refuse to commit to him?

With a growl of frustration, he grabbed her wrist and jerked her down onto the bed. She yelped and tried to twist away, but his arms were already tight around her. He threw a leg over hers for good measure.

"Crispin—"

"Be silent," he said. "You are the most frustrating woman alive and I will only take you with me if you promise to lie here and hold your tongue the rest of the night."

"Okay, but…" She squirmed uneasily. His erection was digging into the softness of her belly.

He bit back a groan at her movements. "I know, damn you. Ignore it."

She snorted and muttered something that sounded like, "Fat chance."

He gave a louder growl and shifted so that it wasn't quite so uncomfortable for her, though it was still unbearable for him. Too many days spent waiting… too many nights spent _wanting_ … and this would be another.

"Crispin," Kate said after a few minutes of awkward silence. "If it's too hard for you, I can go…"

"Stay." It came out as a command, but he tried to gentle his voice. Darkly he added, "It can't get harder than this anyway."

There was a beat, then Kate giggled. Crispinus realized how his words had sounded and laughed despite himself.

"Crispin?"

He sighed. This was _not_ holding her tongue. Where had all her thoughtful silence gone? She tipped her head to look at him. If he looked into those eyes, he would lose it. He cupped the back of her head and pressed a kiss to her brow before tucking her against him, burying his face safely in her hair. "Go to sleep, Kate."

To his relief, she did.

The following night was no easier. They had to camp in the woods again. This time there were no songs, no flirty looks. Both of them were too on edge, remembering what had happened the last time they were exposed in such a way. Crispinus slept little, shielding as much of Kate with his body as he could without squashing her, wishing his home were closer to the main roads so they could've rested at an inn instead. His sword lay on the ground in front them, ready to be used at a moment's notice. No one assaulted them however, and the ride was easier after that, though talk had remained minimal. Too much awaited them ahead, little of it known. When they reached the city, going to Hardalio's had seemed the most logical thing to do.

That reminded Crispinus that he still hadn't answered the man's question.

"Kate's involvement is indirect at most," he said.

"So you say. Explain this legal matter to me, then."

Crispinus did. He told him about the supposed theft, about Cato sending gladiators to his home to bring him in. Gladiators who searched the property and questioned his brother and sister-in-law when they realized he wasn't there.

Of course that made him think of the last time he'd seen his family. He and Kate had risen that morning to find Annia up and packing them food for the journey; Drusus had prepared their horses. Crispinus had left his brother with a light-hearted promise that even if he was arrested and re-enslaved as a gladiator, he would be sure to write him this time about every torturous minute of it. His sibling's smile had been strained as he'd replied in the same joking tone, "You better."

Hardalio tapped his fingers where they rested on his knee. "It's a complicated problem, but not a hopeless one. You say you got the necklace from your woman?"

"Yes."

"Where is her father?"

Crispinus inwardly grimaced. This was the part he'd been dreading. Hardalio seemed like a fair man, but he was still a consul, and bound to the same laws as everyone else. Worse, he was bound to _enforce_ those laws. If he suspected Kate of being in Rome illegally, he could be just as dangerous to her as Cato.

"She's an orphan, my lord, from one of the northern territories," Crispinus explained. "Our fathers were friends and we were promised to each other at a young age."

"Were?"

Crispinus made himself look regretful. "A couple years after that, her family was struck down by a horrible case of malaria and we lost contact. We had no way of knowing what had happened. When our letters inquiring about their silence were never returned, we feared the whole family had been lost in some military skirmish; you know how unstable those lands in Germania are." Hardalio nodded. Though not a consul back then, he would've had a hand in squashing the northern uprisings, either as a soldier or as a political strategist. Crispinus didn't know enough about the man's background to know which, specifically, it had been, but knew he'd been involved enough that he would sympathize.

"Kate was taken in by distant relations. She was too young and overcome by grief to remember my family and me until well after her means of contacting us were lost. It was only recently that she heard about a gladiator with my name and features and came to the Roman Coliseum hoping to find me."

"And that was when the necklace was given?"

"It was."

Hardalio nodded again. Crispinus breathed a little easier. It had been Kate's idea to make up a fake history for them. Saying they were promised to each other gave Crispinus certain rights to her that he wouldn't have had otherwise, and making her a foreign orphan would take away anyone's desire to try and investigate her background. The process of going over story ideas and battering out details as they'd traveled would've been fun if Crispinus hadn't been painfully aware that he still didn't know her _real_ story, and that Kate didn't appear close to confiding in him any time soon.

"I will contact consul Valerius and this gladiator master of yours," Hardalio said, rising. "See if something can't be arranged."

Crispinus stood as well. "Thank you, my lord."

"You will stay here until this is settled, of course." It wasn't really an offer. The Consul had taken the case and wanted to keep the accused party close, regardless that the accused party had come to him pleading innocence and was—Crispinus liked to flatter himself—someone he respected. There was no backing out now. Hardalio would see justice done, no matter whom that justice wound up falling to.

Crispinus made sure none of his unease showed as he bowed and said, "It would be an honor, my lord."

Hardalio waved a hand. "Go rescue your woman from my sons. I will let you know what I hear."

Crispinus was happy to comply.

* * *

"And next year," said Lucan, "I'll be finished with my _litterator_ and will study with a _grammaticus_ instead."

Kate fought the urge to rub at the headache forming behind her temples. Fluent in Latin though she now was, it didn't help her when she had no social parallel to compare the words to. Like now. "Wait, these are teachers you're talking about, right?"

"Of course."

Of course. "What's the difference between them?"

"Well a _litterator_ is for children. And girls," he added without a trace of mockery. "They teach you the basics. A _grammaticus_ helps to, um... refine you." He seemed pleased that he'd thought of this word. He puffed out his small chest and said in a haughtier tone, "yes, they _refine_ what you know and expand upon it."

Kate made a humming noise to signify she understood. Her back was starting to ache from sitting on the steps so long. Behind them was the _vestibulum_ , the long narrow hall that led into the atrium where Crispinus was still talking with Hardalio. She hoped it was going well.

In the street in front of them, the two older boys, Tiburtius and Macrinus, were doing a spectacular impression of a swordfight. Or perhaps it was more than just an impression. The way they were so ruthlessly and relentlessly hacking at each other, you'd think one had done the other some egregious wrong. She'd never seen boys play so seriously before. If their weapons had not been made of wood, she didn't think she could've stood to watch them, though they shouted at her to do just that whenever she looked away for too long.

"Kate! I landed a fatal blow just now, did you see?" Tiburtius yelled.

"I did," said Kate, though thankfully she'd been distracted by a passing chariot—a real chariot!—and seen no such thing. "Very impressive!"

Tiburtius' face lit with a cocky smile that he turned on Macrinus, who was rubbing his chest where his brother had managed to strike him with the end of his sword. Both boys had military-short haircuts, broad shoulders and strong facial features just starting to emerge through and around those chubby, youthful cheeks. Tiburtius' eyes were a bit lighter, Macrinus a bit taller, but that's where the differences ended.

At Tiburtius' smirk, Macrinus swore and lunged at him and off they went again. No one else passing by on the street seemed to think there was anything odd about it, nor did Lucan look impressed by his brothers' behavior. He rolled his eyes.

"So, after you finish with your _grammaticus_ , do you grad—ah, are you finished with school?" Kate asked him.

He lifted his chin. "Usually. But _I'm_ going on to study with a _rhetor_."

"What does a _rhetor_ teach you?" It was very annoying, looking more ignorant than a boy who couldn't be older than ten.

"Law, politics, public speaking. Only the most privileged students ever get to study such things."

"Gods, Lucan! She doesn't care about your stupid schooling. She's a woman," Tiburtius told him, ducking as Macrinus attempted to severe his head from his neck. He parried and their weapons came together with a loud crack. Macrinus fell back a step.

"You'll have to excuse our brother," Macrinus apologized to Kate. "Lucan has yet to learn how to properly entertain a woman." Considering _he_ looked fourteen, tops, Kate doubted he knew much about that yet either. But he had a surprisingly deep voice for a boy his age, and it made his attempt to sound mature and worldly more endearing than pompous.

"I don't mind," said Kate, telling herself that calling him out on his chauvinism would get her nowhere. "Do you want to be a consul like your father, then?" she asked Lucan.

The boy blushed slightly and looked away, "It's what I asper… aspa…"

"Aspire," said Tiburtius.

"If the word is too big for your mouth, don't use it," Macrinus told him, pointing his sword like an admonishing finger.

Lucan's glare was much sharper than his brother's weapon. "It what I _aspire_ to be," he finished defiantly. Macrinus smirked.

"And you two?" Kate asked the armed boys.

" _We_ are going into the military," Tiburtius said, swiping the air _fast_ _fast_ _fast_ with his sword. "We're going to help spread the glory of Rome!"

Kate smiled through her grimace. Great, a little future conqueror. Just what oppressed civilizations needed.

From beside her Lucan suddenly said in a reverent voice, "Crispinus Agallon."

Tiburtius fumbled his sword. Macrinus straightened and gave a respectful nod. Kate twisted to see Crispinus standing in the shadows of the _vestibulum_ , his casual stance telling her he'd been there for several minutes, watching them. His face was impassive, but she thought his gaze softened the smallest bit when their eyes met. She knew her heart did.

Yes, she could admit that now, for all the good it did her.

"How'd it go?" she asked.

"Well," he said.

Kate waited for him to go on, and when he didn't she huffed, "That's it? Just 'well'? You have to give me more than that! Spill it. Now."

Tiburtius made a chocking noise. "You dare to speak so… To _Agallon_ …" She couldn't tell through all his sputtering if he was offended or impressed.

Crispin's lips twitched. "She is rather impertinent for a woman, isn't she?" he said, and laughed when Kate scowled at him. He took a seat beside her and ruffled her hair, only to smooth it again afterward. The three boys watched with huge eyes. Kate blushed.

"Hardalio was very understanding," Crispinus told her, more quietly so their audience couldn't hear—even Lucan, who sandwiched Kate on her left. "He's going to arrange everything for us, and in the meantime we've been invited to stay here."

"Invited? Or ordered?" Kate asked just as quietly.

Crispin gave her a wry smile. "Let's say _strongly_ _invited_."

"Hmm."

"I promise it'll be fine," he whispered.

"Crispinus Agallon?" They both looked up. Macrinus was standing in front of them. Kate hadn't heard him approach. Tiburtius, who was lingering behind him, prodded him in the back with his sword. Macrinus gave him a look of warning before turning back to Crispin.

"We would be honored if you would attempt to teach us a bit of what you know," he said. "That is, if you could find the patience." He shot his brother another hard glance.

Crispinus looked amused. "If your father will permit it, why not?" he said.

Tiburtius took off to go ask. He came back a few minutes later, smile wide. "He said yes."

Crispin was given his own wooden sword. He gave it a few experimental swings, chuckling. "I haven't used one of these in years."

The next few hours were truly fascinating for Kate to watch. Tiburtius and Macrinus were unbelievable students. They listened raptly to Crispin's instructions, which the gladiator gave with a skilled professionalism that screamed _seasoned_ _warrior_. Kate wouldn't have been surprised to find that they'd stopped breathing a few times just to make sure they didn't miss something especially important that he said. When Crispin told them to get into a certain position or strike a certain fighting stance, they obeyed without question. And when he corrected them—a bark to turn their wrists _this_ way not that, a smack to the back of the knee to make them bend their leg _just_ _so_ —they never made the same mistake again. Kate even caught Lucan repeating Crispin's hollered-out advice under his breath, as if memorizing lines, and she had no doubt that he would remember it all later.

The boys' dedication wasn't the only thing that was surprising. The minute he started his little lesson, Crispin became every bit the serious teacher devoted to his craft. Even wielding a wooden sword several inches too small for him, he was truly something to behold. And when he finished with his lecturing and moved on to the more practical applications—namely, taking on Macrinus and then Tiburtius in a one-on-one mock fight—he became downright fearsome. Kate had to stop herself several times from telling him to go easier on the boys. If they left themselves open to an attack, he didn't hesitate to strike them with the flat of his sword, sometimes so hard they hit the ground. Then he would say something along the lines of, "Do you know why you're dead right now?" and Macrinus or Tiburtius would get up and explain what they'd done wrong, and if they didn't know Crispin would tell them and then show them what they should've done instead.

When he finally lowered his weapon and proclaimed the lesson over for the day, both boys thanked him with genuine humility, and after making their goodbyes to Kate, excused themselves to go bathe. Lucan hurried after them, leaving Kate alone with her fierce gladiator. Crispin dropped down next to her with the deep sigh of one thoroughly exhausted, though she knew it was for show since he'd hardly even worked up a sweat.

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back dramatically, as if he couldn't bear to hold it up. Kate reached over to fluff the few damp locks sticking to his forehead. She would never get tired of playing with his hair. Never.

"Poor baby," she cooed when he leaned into her touch. "Does someone feel old after bossing around the children?"

He opened one eye to glare at her and she grinned. "Have you no sympathy?" he pouted.

" _Me_?" She laughed. "I'm not the one who just put those boys through an afternoon of gladiator bootcamp."

"Bootcamp?"

"Very tough training," she said. "Was it really necessary to be so… I don't know, _intense_ about it? Couldn't you have just let them whack at you for a little while, given out some compliments, and called it a day?"

Crispinus gave her a very odd look. It wasn't quite pity, nor was it amusement. She would have called it sadness but for the very small smile he wore.

"You've lived a very sheltered life, haven't you?" he said.

'Sheltered' was the very last thing Kate would've called herself, and told him so, but Crispin shook his head, and this time there was nothing feigned about his sigh. "Life does not look kindly upon the weak," he said. "Not here, at least. Giving those boys false praise may have made them feel good now, but what would they have learned? It might even have made them overconfident in their abilities and allowed them to justify slacking off future training, which would lead to certain death on the battlefield. Now at least they know their limits and how they might extend them, and by doing so, extend their lives."

Kate stared at him.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing. Just thinking that you would make a great father," she admitted.

He turned a wonderful shade of red at that and looked away. Kate's enjoyment at making him blush so badly was ruined by the realization of what she'd just said, and she turned to hide her own burning face.

She'd done a lot of thinking since returning from the temple. The dream with her brother and finding out who was in charge of this little trip back in time had been a real eye-opener for her. It all came down to love, or so the two biggest meddlers in her life seemed to think. But though Kate could no longer deny that her heart was affected, how could she know if it was real, true, _everlasting_ love or not when she was stuck here? Easy to make the best of a situation and _say_ it's what she would've picked if given the choice, but how to really _know..._

A servant appeared in front of them and cleared his throat importantly before addressing Crispin. "The Consul said to inform you that you are to appear at the Nerva Forum tomorrow morning to settle your dispute. He will be out this evening, but if you have any questions you want answered before tomorrow you may give them to me and I will relay them to him."

"Tomorrow?" said Kate. "So soon?" It was a good thing she was being rhetorical because the man didn't so much as glance in her direction.

Crispin thanked him and waved him off. When the servant was gone, he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her as close as public decency would allow, whispering, "This is what we want, Kate."

"There you go again with that 'we' business," she muttered. "You really should watch it. It'll become a bad habit."

Crispin ignored her half-hearted attempt at levity. "The sooner we go the sooner all of this will end," he reminded her.

That they couldn't guarantee _what_ would be ending was what scared her. But by the way Crispin was gripping her shoulder more tightly than was strictly necessary, Kate thought he might already know that, and be scared of the same thing himself.

The knowledge was not exactly comforting.

"Tomorrow," she said, trying to sound optimistic and failing miserably.

"Tomorrow," he agreed.

Kate had never feared a tomorrow more.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

It had finally rained during the night, but the sky was still a troubling gray when Crispinus and Kate stepped outside that morning.

Water filled the crevices in the cobblestones, already dirty from foot traffic. The Nerva Forum sat deep in the middle of the _Subura_ district, one of the oldest and most congested areas in the city. Several times Crispinus and Kate found themselves stuck in a crowd that had bottlenecked itself, either around a particularly sharp street corner or along a narrow stretch of road that had too many stalls clogging the way. Kate was nearly shoved to the ground twice before she lost patience and started pushing back, and Crispinus scared off three pickpockets, one of whom couldn't have been more than four.

Crispinus kept up a steady one-sided conversation as they walked, a vain attempt to keep their minds off their destination. Kate would nod every now and then, but for the most was unresponsive. Her face had a sickly pallor to it. Crispinus wasn't sure if it was from the constant jostling of the rowdy populous or from nerves. Perhaps both.

They'd been forced to sleep in separate rooms the night before. Being unmarried and in the home of a consul, propriety had to be stringently upheld. Crispinus had laid awake most of the night, knowing it could be his last as a free man and wishing he had Kate near to take his mind of things. Sleep for any length of time had been impossible. By the dark circles shading Kate's lower lashes, she'd fared little better.

They passed the Augustus Forum and the Temple of Peace. When he pointed them out, Kate murmured her appreciation, but the exact words were lost amidst the city's din. Vendors shouted out their wares; customers argued prices; mothers scolded their misbehaving children; horses hooves clattered and chariot wheels rumbled.

Next to the Temple of Peace was the Temple of Vesta, beyond which rose the _Atrium_ _Vestiae_ on Palatine Hill. The three-story house of the Vestals was one of the most impressive buildings in the city, and even Kate paused at the sight of it. Crispinus stopped and let her look her fill, using the time to look his fill of her.

Macrinus had appeared that morning with one of his mother's old _tunicas_ for her to wear to the forum. Though women were permitted inside the building under certain conditions, it was smart that Kate dress as well and modestly as possible. The boy had also lent her a proper cloak—instead of Crispinus' oversized one—with a long piece lace to cover her head. She looked like a proper Roman woman now, one with a station laughably higher than his own. Women dressed as she was had never associated with him in public before, and yet Kate stayed close and smiled at him with real affection, and when he reached for her hand she let him take it as if he were doing _her_ an honor by wanting to hold it.

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, ignoring the displeased mutters and scandalized hisses of those close enough to see him do it. Kate ignored them as well, beaming and pulling back to kiss _his_ hand. If he'd had the room to maneuver, he would've pulled her close for a proper kiss, witnesses be damned. But there wasn't, so he regretfully let their hands drop—though he couldn't make himself let go completely—and they moved on.

The Nerva Forum was one of the older buildings, which meant it was a lot smaller than many of the cities other, grander forums. A narrow, one-story structure, it had a high, pointed roof decorated with a simple frieze of horses on its pediment. The walls were made with widely spaced columns, two more widely space than the others to signify the entrance.

To Crispinus' surprise, he found Scipio relaxing on the front steps. The gladiator jumped up when he saw them, exclaiming, "There you two are! The rest are already waiting for you inside. We better hurry."

Despite his words, Crispinus found himself stopping, Kate as well.

"What are you doing here?" he said. "How did you even know about this?"

His friend waved away his questions. "No time for that now, is there? Come on, before they get any more annoyed. That consul Valerius is a real piece of work. How are you, Kate?"

"Uh, fine," she stuttered, seemingly as wrong-footed to find him there—and in such good humor—as Crispinus was.

Scipio winked. "Latin's coming along well, I see."

Crispinus scowled and slid a hand around her shoulders under the pretext of helping her up the steps. The scarred gladiator laughed. "No need to worry, my friend! I'm a taken man now."

"Are you?"

"I am." But he said no more than that and once they were inside none of them dared to say anything else.

The room was set up much like a small version of a Colosseum. Leveled rows of benches wrapped around a sunken floor. Hardalio was there, as was the other consul, Valerius. He was a tall man with a sharply defined face and neat black beard. His clothes were without ornamentation but very fine. Cato stood to his left. A small contingent of guards led by Aleron was grouped unobtrusively in the corner.

Kate's steps faltered at the sight of them. Crispinus pressed a hand to the small of her back, for support and to keep her moving forward. He met Aleron's gaze but found nothing to either scare or reassure him.

"You came, I see," Cato said. "I have to admit, Agallon, when my gladiators returned without you the other day I wondered if you had fled in your guilt." He had more than _wondered_ , Crispinus thought with vicious satisfaction. The man had probably been in complete panic. "But I see you've come to turn yourself in. Good of you."

"I've come to clear my name," Crispinus corrected, the effort it took to keep his tone neutral making his voice come out dangerously quiet.

"Have you? Well I wish you luck with that." The old gladiator master turned to Kate. He was several inches taller than her, but she still managed to tilt her chin in such a way that made it seem as if she were looking down on him. Crispinus' felt his heart surge with pride.

"So you're the woman, are you?" Cato sneered. "The one Agallon stole from?"

"There's been no theft," Kate said in a tone that perfectly conveyed both her disgust and anger. "That's a false accusation you will be sorry for making very soon."

The man's shoulders snapped back and he spluttered, "I thought you couldn't…" But then he realized what she'd said and his eyes narrowed. "Did you just _threaten_ me?"

Crispinus tugged Kate back and stepped in front of her. Cato's gaze went from Crispinus to Kate and back again. His lips stretched into a nasty smile. "Oh, I am going to enjoy this," he said.

Valerius stepped forward, along with Hardalio. "Both parties will take their seats now," he said. "You!" He looked at Scipio. "I thought I told you this was a closed forum."

"I'm here as an unbiased witness to the proceedings," Scipio said, ignoring the snort, giggle, mutter, and eye-roll that came from Crispinus, Kate, Cato, and Aleron, respectfully.

Valerius' gaze was hard. "Sit yourself somewhere where I don't have to look at you. If you interrupt even once, I will have you exiled to the Oriens. Are we clear?"

"Perfectly." Scipio gave him a low bow and took a seat a couple rows behind Kate and Crispinus. Cato sat next to them, albeit several feet away.

"Stand and make your charge," Valerius told him.

Cato drew himself up. Without so much as a glance at Crispinus, he said, "I, Cato Porcius, charge Crispinus Agallon, with theft."

"And what is it you think he has stolen?"

"A most expensive piece of jewelry. A necklace, to be specific."

"And who did he supposedly steal it from?"

Cato pointed to Kate. "That woman."

"And what makes you think it was stolen?"

"One of the Colosseum guards witnessed it."

Hardalio narrowed his eyes. "Who?"

Cato waved Aleron over. The gesture was impatient, which was probably why the guard took his time crossing the room. When Cato spewed curses under his breath at the man's behavior, Aleron smirked just the tiniest bit.

"And who are you?" asked Hardalio.

"Who he said I am," replied Aleron dryly. "A guard. My named is Aleron Lanatus."

"And you witnessed this theft?"

"I don't know about _witnessed_. I heard a female yell come from the gladiator's room. When I went in, I saw the woman—" Again, Kate was pointed to, "—and Agallon standing there with something in his hand."

"The _necklace_ ," Cato interjected. "He was holding the necklace."

"I assume," said Aleron mildly. Crispinus watched Cato's jaw tick and wondered if the guard was being vague on purpose.

"The woman looked distressed," he continued. "When I tried to talk to her, she started ranting in a language I didn't know and took off."

Kate grimaced at that. Crispinus felt renewed guilt over his actions. It was _his_ fault she'd been so upset and reacted that way.

"Then what happened?" said Hardalio.

Aleron shrugged. "Then Agallon asked to see Cato. That's it."

"But Agallon had the necklace."

"It was a chest, but yes, I'm sure that's what was inside it."

"But you didn't see him actually _steal_ it," Hardalio pressed.

"I did not."

"Thank you. That's all we need now. You may go back."

Aleron bowed deeply and returned to his fellows much quicker than he had left them. Valerius turned to Kate. "Please stand."

She took a deep breath and did. Crispinus restrained the urge to take her hand. Even though she was still right next to him, she looked very alone.

"Katelyn Gray, Hardalio has already informed me of the circumstances that led you to the Colosseum," said Valerius. "I understand that you were promised to Agallon and came seeking him."

"That's correct," she said.

"Explain this discrepancy with the necklace then. Why did you leave without explanation after giving it to him?"

Kate's answer came slowly. "I was… very emotional, seeing Crispin again."

"Crispin?"

She blushed and corrected herself. "Crispi _nus_. The necklace… it… it was supposed to be a gift to my mother from my father. But she…" Crispinus watched as a tremor went through Kate, then another. Her hands fisted. "But she died, and he gave it to me instead. It's one of the few things I managed to keep. The _only_ thing, really."

Crispinus stared up at her. Besides coming up with a fake history for her, they'd worked out a story for this question as well. This wasn't it. This was—he was almost sure—the truth.

Kate gave her head a sharp jerk and seemed to come back to herself. She cleared her voice and went on, getting back to what they'd rehearsed. "I gave the necklace to Crispin— _Crispinus_ —as an apology for all the worry I'd put him through when we lost contact. But I was angry at him for becoming a gladiator…" Kate shook her head again. To everyone else, it probably looked like she was shaking off regret, but Crispinus knew it was her irritation she was trying to dispel. She hadn't liked this part of the story, and had argued with him over it.

"As if I'd care about that!" she'd said. But it had been a reasonable explanation and in the end, she'd agreed to go along with it.

She blew out a breath. "When we were interrupted, I was too upset and I admit I took out some of my frustration on the guard before, uh, taking my leave."

"So he didn't steal the necklace from you," Hardalio said.

Kate's smile was small but sincere. "No, he did not."

"Thank you."

She nodded and took her seat. Crispinus felt his spirits rise. They were going to get out of this unscathed! He glanced at Cato to see how he was taking the loss. The gladiator master's jaw was set. His eyes were bright with determination. It made Crispinus uneasy, seeing such a look when what he should've been seeing was defeat.

"I think that settles it then," said Hardalio.

"No, it does not!" snapped Cato, rising. "I have second charge I'd like to make."

"A second charge?" Hardalio frowned at him. "That was not discussed when this meeting was agreed upon."

"That's because I was loath to make it!" Cato said. "My business here is not to cause trouble, but to see justice done."

From behind him, Crispinus heard Scipio smother a snort. Crispinus had to agree.

"Since Agallon has obviously made some deal with this—" He raked a disgusted gaze over Kate and Crispinus reached for his sword hilt. Cato saw him and refrained from saying whatever insult he'd been about to make. "—This _woman_ , in order to get her to lie for him, I have no choice but to swallow my pride and admit to another crime of his that affected me greatly, but which, until now, I had not wanted to become known."

Crispinus stiffened. He wasn't implying what he thought he was implying, was he? Even Cato couldn't be that spiteful.

"It seems to me you are only making up stories out of desperation," Hardalio said.

_Yes_ , thought Crispinus. _That's_ _it._ _Don't_ _listen_ _to_ _him._

"But we do have the obligation to hear what he has to say, do we not?" said Valerius. Crispinus wanted to run him through with his blade.

"I suppose so." Hardalio's tone was grudging. To Cato he said, "Make your second charge then, gladiator master, before I lose my patience."

_No!_

Cato looked at Crispinus, as if he had heard his mental shout. In a voice that boomed with the power he said, "Crispinus Agallon is not a freedman!"

Scipio started cursing fluently. Crispinus' whole body went cold. Beside him, Kate's fingers gripped his arm as she whispered, "Crispin?"

"Do not try and make fools of us," snapped Hardalio. "Of course he's a freedman."

"He is not," Cato said. "He's a runaway slave. _My_ runaway slave. As Aleron told you, Agallon came to see me after he received the necklace. He wanted to buy his freedom, and when I told him it wasn't enough he held me at knifepoint and threatened to skewer me if I did not release him."

"Freed under duress..." Valerius said, stroking his beard. "That is quite the serious charge. What have you to say about this, Agallon?"

"It's not true, of course," said Hardalio, before Crispinus could respond. "The very idea is ridiculous."

"Is it?" said Valerius, his gaze locked on Crispinus. "There is one easy way to prove it. Where is your _rudis_ , gladiator?"

_Rudis_. The wooden sword given to all gladiators when they were freed. A memento, and also their proof of freedom. He hadn't planned on sticking around long enough to need such evidence, nor had he imagined when coming here that Cato would be stupid enough to bring it up.

"Gladiator," Valerius said again, tone sharper. "Where is your _rudis_?"

Kate's fingers were digging into his arm so hard Crispinus was surprised he wasn't bleeding. The pain to ground him enough that he was able to say, "I don't have one."

He heard Scipio suck his breath. Over in the corner, Aleron shook his head. Hardalio looked like he'd been slapped. "Are you telling me you're not a freedman then? That what this man says is true?"

"I've done my time!" Crispinus argued, "and paid my share in gold. I've more than earned my freedom!"

But he was not free, he saw as he looked first at Valerius' merciless gaze and then at Hardalio's hardening features, not in the eyes of the law. At the end of the day, no matter how many years he worked, no matter how much he paid in money, blood, and the intangible pieces of his soul, if his master did not wish to free him, than a slave he remained.

"You've been accused of threatening your master with violence and fleeing," said Valerius. "Two very serious crimes, Agallon. Have you no defense to give us?"

Crispinus didn't. There was nothing he could say or do that would make the consuls side with him.

He looked at Kate, wanting to explain, to apologize, at the very least, but the words wouldn't come.

Cato's face was alight with evil humor. "Don't worry, Consul, I'll make sure to punish him properly back at the Colosseum. He won't be trying such things again."

"I'm afraid that won't be happening," said Valerius.

"What do you mean?" Cato's expression turned sour. "You just said that he was still my slave. He's _mine_ to deal with."

"If we were dealing with petty theft, maybe," Valerius said. "But this is far worse. Slaves must know their place. No, by law Agallon must be put to death."

" _Death_?"

Valerius nodded. "He will be taken and executed with the other condemned tomorrow morning at the Colosseum."

Cato looked gobsmacked. Served him right. Crispinus could've told him this would happen. Now they had both lost, in the worst possible way.

"You can't do this!" The outburst had not come from Cato, but from Kate. She leapt to her feet. Crispinus grabbed for her but she was too fast to catch. "C-Crispinus did his time! You can't keep people enslaved and then punish them when they run away because they were exploited or abused! It's sick and wrong and you should be ashamed of yourselves for allowing it!" She looked at Hardalio, eyes begging. "Please! You know he's a good man. You know Crispinus doesn't deserve this."

The consul's eyes were sad but his expression firm. "Regretfully, he does. As Valerisu said, slaves must know their place. Any who try to leave it must be made an example of. I cannot in good conscience veto Valerius' ruling."

" _Good_ _conscience?_ " Kate cried. Crispinus grabbed for her again and this time instead of pulling away, she grabbed back. "Crispin!" She wanted him to argue, he could see, but it would be a waste of breath. Aleron and the rest of the guards had left their corner and were coming forward. Valerius and Hardalio backed up to give them room. Crispinus held Kate against him as hopelessness consumed him. It blackened his mind and twisted into the only emotion he could stand to feel: rage.

Scipio bounded down the steps to him. Crispinus turned and pushed Kate into his arms, hardly feeling the pain of letting her go. He would never hold her in his arms again. Never kiss her or touch her or brush her hair. Never bring her to ecstasy and see the love he'd dreamt of seeing spill from her eyes… The rage intensified until his body burned with it. They wanted to take him away from Kate? Kill him in front of a jeering crowd like some petty criminal? Well let them try! He'd show them what happened when you took on a champion gladiator!

"Crispin, no!"

"Hold her," he told Scipio as Kate struggled to get free of his friend's grip. _I'm_ _sorry_ , he thought, letting his gaze linger on her for the last time. She was still beautiful, even with her eyes blazing with denial and fear and, yes, her own fair share of anger.

Behind him came the sound of blades being unsheathed. Time to end it. He turned to Aleron and pulled his own sword free.

"This is unacceptable!" Cato yelled. "I demand for Agallon to be released into my custody!"

"You _demand_?" Valerius said. "Demand something from me again and I will have you taken as well."

Cato fell to murderous silence.

Crispinus faced his opponents.

"You cannot win," Aleron said as the other guards start to spread, circle. Crispinus raised his weapon.

"No," he agreed. "But I rather greet death fighting then on my knees in the arena."

Aleron glanced behind him where Crispinus could still hear Kate trying to escape from Scipio. He said in a voice filled with distaste, "You would have me cut you down in front of your woman?"

A vision of Kate's face when the guard's blade finally ran him through made Crispinus flinch. He hadn't thought…. Bad enough that he was forced to leave her, could he make her watch his murder too? At least, if it were at the Colosseum, she wouldn't have to see…

Sensing his capitulation, Aleron went on, "You cannot avoid your fate, Agallon, but you can avoid causing her unnecessary suffering."

Yes, he could do that, _should_ do that. After everything he'd put her through, after all the times he'd failed to protect her from the violence of his world even after he'd _promised_. If going peacefully now was all he could do for her, then didn't he owe her that?

He didn't react when Aleron swung his sword, knocking away his own. He didn't fight when a guard that had been lingering in the back came forward with chains.

Valerius and Hardalio watched without comment. Cato muttered something foul and stormed off. Out of the corner of his eye, Crispinus saw that Kate had gone still. She stood, encircled by Scipio's arms, and watched them put the chains around his wrists and ankles. Crispinus could not read all the terrible emotions that flitted across her face; they came and went too fast. He hoped they were moving fast enough for her to avoid feeling the pain of them.

Once he was securely bound, he was prodded by the hilt of Aleron's sword into a shuffling walk. The gesture broke through Kate's shock and she began struggling again, harder than ever. She screamed his name, cursed the guards and begged the consuls, who took their leave without a backwards glance. Her cries followed Crispinus out of the forum.

He knew they would follow him to his grave.

* * *

Valencia was waiting for Cato two blocks from the forum, on one of the less popular streets in the district, just like she said she'd be.

"Well?" she said when he reached her, "what happened?"

" _What_ _happened_?" Cato hissed. "You're father ruined _everything_ , that's what happened!"

"Crispinus was freed?" Valencia gasped.

"No! He was sentenced to death at the Colosseum!"

She relaxed. Even smiled. "Oh. That's excellent then."

Cato gaped at her. "What the hell are you talking about? I've lost my gladiator! I _told_ you I wanted him back, and now he's out of my reach for good! _You're_ the one who said bringing up those charges would be a great idea! I only did exactly what you told me to!"

"And you are to be commended on your ability to follow orders," she said in such a condescending tone he would have beat her had her father not been so powerful, and Cato not so high up on the suspect list.

Gritting his teeth he said, "I thought we had an understanding."

"We did. We both wanted to see Crispinus Agallon punished, hence why I got my father to help you. Unfortunately for you we had different ideas of what that punishment should be."

"But you said—"

Her eyes flashed. "I _said_ that the theft charge wouldn't stick and I was right. Then I _suggested_ another and you took it. I never _told_ you it would get you your gladiator back. You were the one stupid enough to assume it would. For a gladiator master you really are ignorant of slavery laws."

He would kill her. Valerius be damned, he would ring her skinny neck!

He lunged. She had her dagger up between them so fast Cato almost impaled himself on it.

"Back up," she told him.

He did, glaring blackly.

"Now, tell me what became of the woman, Katelyn."

The sudden change in topic had Cato mentally fumbling for a minute. "Why would you care—?"

Valencia jabbed the dagger at him. "Just. Tell. Me."

"I have no idea," Cato said. "When I left she was still with Agallon's ugly friend, Scipio something-or-other."

"I remember him. He lives over on _Censori_ Street now, doesn't he?"

"I neither know nor care."

Valencia narrowed her eyes at his tone but didn't make any more threatening moves with her little blade. After a moment, she nodded and turned away. "Our business is over. You may leave now."

"You're going after _her_ now, aren't you?" he said.

"Maybe." She gave him a considering glance. "Would you like to help?"

He had to laugh at her nerve. "Why would I?"

"Because," Valencia said, "that woman's the reason you lost your gladiator in the first place. If she hadn't gone to him, he never would have sought his freedom. _She's_ the one to convinced him to do that."

That was true, Cato thought.

"And _she's_ the reason you couldn't get him for theft. If that bitch hadn't still been around, she never would have been able to vouch for Crispinus and his guilt would've been secured. He would be back in your ownership, just like you wanted."

That was true, too. She was the one who caused all this, and ruined his chance to get his gladiator back.

Valencia smiled at him. He hated her, but he was beginning to think there was another woman he should hate more.

"Well?" she asked.

* * *

By the time Kate was able to stop yelling, her voice was hoarse and Crispin long gone. Only she and Scipio remained inside the forum.

_Scipio._

She turned within his arms and he let her, probably assuming she wanted him to comfort her. But instead of holding onto him, she struck him, an echoing crack that snapped his head to the side and shocked him enough to finally let go of her.

"You!" she cried. "Why didn't you help him? You're supposed to be Crispin's friend, and you just _stood_ there!"

"There was nothing I could've done," Scipio said, rubbing his cheek, which was already starting to turn a bright red. "If I'd gotten involved we would've both been taken."

"So it's all about keeping your own ass safe, is that it?"

The look he shot her at that was terrifying. Such fury would have made Kate cower, had she been in her right mind. But she was too far-gone for that. She did, however, realize she'd crossed a line.

"Do not," he said in a tight voice, "accuse me of such cowardice again. _Ever_. I would give my life for Crispinus if it would help him. But in this case, it wouldn't have. You, Kate, need to learn _restraint_. If you hadn't lost yourself so completely, I might've been able to do more than stand there and keep you from getting yourself killed."

Guilt and shame coalesced with Kate's grief. Her breaths came in shuddering sobs, but no tears fell. She hung her head. Scipio sighed. "You and Crispinus both seem to have the unfortunate tendency to fight first, think later."

"What was there to think about?" Kate said, feeling defensive. "They're taking him to be _executed_ , Scipio!"

"Yes, but not this second! Tomorrow. That's plenty of time to regroup and come up with a plan."

She looked up at him. Dare she hope? "You have one?"

His expression turned shifty. "I'm working on it. Come on."

Outside a misty rain had started up. Combined with the persisting heat and the mass of bodies still filling the streets, it felt and smelled more like a floating haze of sweat than fresh rain.

They weaved their way through the crowd, Kate following Scipio's lead. The streets became steadily narrower, the ground less even; the stalls disappeared altogether. Every so often Kate would stumble over a split in the cobbles that had been hidden by a rain puddle. Or at least she told herself they were rain puddles. The color and consistency was too disturbing to think otherwise.

The buildings grew in both length and height, some stretching an entire block like Roman row houses. These were not the spacious, elegant structures like Hardalio lived in. These were much closer to the decrepit inn she had stayed at with Crispin her first few nights in Rome.

Scipio headed for one of the bigger buildings. The walls were a plain white plaster, with windows decorating its face. Some of the windows had small wooden balconies. Kate spotted a few potted plants. The entirety of the ground floor was composed of shops ensconced under miniature brick archways. Stairs, also made of wood, branched off every corner. She followed Scipio up the ones on the north side.

Here, Kate was surprised to find that graffiti decorated the walls. She paused at a drawing of a male face with an unfortunate-shaped nose. Below it read: _Socrates_ _is_ _dull._

Kate's laugh came out slightly strangled. She couldn't stop herself from reading some of the others:

_Julia loves Antius._

_Sophrus_ _is_ _a_ _thief._

_Nero_ _makes_ _all_ _the_ _girls_ _sigh._

_Look_ _for_ _Antia_ _in_ _the_ _prostitute's_ _district._

Kate wondered what was wrong with her that the sight of all these scribblings could make her feel nostalgic.

"Kate?"

Scipio had stopped several steps above her, concern on his face. She shook her head and waved him on. "It's nothing."

When they reached the fourth floor, Scipio turned off and led her down a narrow, empty hallway. His apartment was near the middle. The door was made of two pieces of wood, each shaped like leaves, that swiveled inwards on pivots fixed into the doorframe. He gestured Kate to go through first.

Inside was a sparsely furnished room she was coming to think of as normal. There were a couple chairs and rug that looked like some type of fur. A single empty pot sat next to a small hearth. A curtained doorway on the right led to what she would bet was the bedroom.

"My home," Scipio said, coming in behind her, and for the first time he looked unsure. "I know it's not—"

"It's fine," said Kate. She tried to work up a smile to reassure him, but was just too heartsick to manage it.

"I'm going out for a bit," he told her. "I'll send a message for Evodius to come stay with you."

"I don't need a…" She almost said, "a babysitter," but he wouldn't know what that was. "A _paedagogue,_ " she said instead, thinking of how Annia had accused Drusus of something similar.

God, Annia and Drusus. What would she tell them if—

She cut off the thought off before it could finish. _Stay_ _positive,_ _Kate!_

"It's not that you're not capable of taking care of yourself," Scipio told her. "But you shouldn't be alone right now."

"Why can't I just come with you?"

That shifty look was back. "I don't know if they would like that."

"They?"

"The ones I'm going to see."

Kate felt a flash of irritation at his vagueness, but didn't have the heart to argue. "And they're going to help us save Crispin?"

"I hope so," he said with feeling.

So did she.

After he left, she grabbed a chair took a seat by the window. Outside, the mist had progressed into a soft rain. Kate sat there and watched it fall, willing the sight to bring her peace. Her whole being was screaming at her to get up and _do_ something, but Scipio had said she needed restraint. So she would _restrain_ herself from charging down to the coliseum and demanding they free Crispin, the way she wanted to. She would _restrain_ herself from finding Hardalio and beating some sense into him. She would _restrain_ herself from going after that bastard Cato and…!

Kate scrubbed at her eyes to relieve the burning. She had to stay rational about this. She would wait for Scipio to return with help. And then, together, they'd go get Crispin back, and everything would be fine.

She wouldn't allow herself to believe otherwise.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Persephone and Aphrodite stood beneath the leaking overhang of a closed bread shop, heavily veiled against the elements and passing mortals scurrying to find cover in the storms last deluge. Neither of them could bear to look into the mirror hidden in Aphrodite's pocket. It had been clear, even without being able to hear, that things had gone terrible wrong in that forum earlier. So wrong, that they couldn't even bear to speculate.

"Scipio is taking longer than we thought to return," Aphrodite murmured to Persephone. "Should you send a message to Hades to let him know you're well?"

The Goddess of Spring sniffed, pulling her cloak tighter around her. "And where should I send it too? Seeing as he's vanished without a word again."

"Oh Spring, I thought you'd talked to him about that."

"Well I haven't. And it's my fault, I know, but right now I hardly care. I sent Hermes out to find him so—"

"Oooh! That was a good idea!"

"Thank you. Though the way things are going I would not be surprised if it somehow backfires on me as well."

Aphrodite stepped back to avoid the spray of water splashed up by a passing wagon. Giving her hems a sharp shake to dislodge any clinging drops she said, "What do you mean? Your ideas are always great."

"And this one? _I'm_ the one who said to find the gladiator's soulmate. And look at the mess it's turned into."

"We all share blame for this," Aphrodite told her. "And just because things look dark now does not mean they won't get brighter. And how can they not, with us helping out?"

"You never used to be such an optimist."

"An effect, no doubt, from finding my own gladiator."

Persephone looked at her friend, glowing in a way that had nothing to do with her immortality, and felt, if anything, even worse. Quietly, she said, "You know you won't be able to keep him, right?"

Aphrodite didn't answer at first. From far off came the sound of thunder, a low grumbling moan like an old man settling in for the night. The storm eased the tiniest bit.

When Aphrodite finally spoke, her words fell with the same heavy gravity as the rain.

"Do you have any idea what it's like, Spring, to be the Goddess of Love? To know what love is in all its incarnations, to watch it bloom and grow in the hearts of others, to know how important it is, to be able to channel it, control it, but never truly _feel_ it for yourself? Do you have any idea at all?"

"No," said Persephone in heartbroken wonderment. She never knew her friend lived with such pain. "But you've been with so many…"

"It's not the same," Aphrodite whispered. "I didn't realize it at first, but it's been slowing wearing on me. And Scipio may be taken away from me eventually, but I'm going to hold onto him as long as I can, and Hades can take those who don't like it."

Scipio appeared then, his broad figure cutting through the rain until he was safe beneath the overhang with them, though it was too little, too late in terms of keeping dry.

In an anxious tone he told them what happened at the forum, and how Crispinus had been arrested and would be executed tomorrow morning. Persephone didn't think her heart could sink any lower.

"You know who we have to go to," she told Aphrodite when he had finished.

Aphrodite shook her head.

"She's our best chance at saving him."

Scipio looked at her curiously. "Who?"

"Athena."

Aphrodite shook her head again, as if to keep the name to reaching her ears. Persephone knew why. She had just warned Aphrodite about Athena this morning. Athena would not take kindly to the Goddess of Love clinging to a mortal, especially a gladiator.

"Why can't the two of you do something?" asked Scipio. It was not, Persephone thought, an unreasonable question.

"Because there are rules for this," she told him. "And we may bend them sometimes but... this goes beyond that. Far beyond."

"Then we go to Athena."

"No," Aphrodite said, voice tight. "No. Not her."

"Why not? If she can save Crispinus…."

But the Goddess of Love was shaking her head again, more violently than ever before.

Scipio grabbed her hand. Without even hesitating, he went down on his knees before her, bowing his head. "Please, Aphrodite. Crispinus is like a brother to me. Please, do this for me and I will never ask you for anything else!"

"She need not know about your relationship," Persephone whispered, the man's distress tugging at her sympathies. "If he stays here, she should not be able to tell—"

"You know better than that," Aphrodite snapped, but with little heat. Scipio looked up at her and Persephone saw the tears, small but present. Aphrodite saw them too and sucked in a breath. She swooped down to kiss the salty water off his cheeks.

"I will go," she said, pressing her lips to his forehead. "I will go, so please…"

But she didn't finish. She disappeared, taking her request and the Goddess of Spring with her, and leaving her gladiator kneeling in the rain, pondering the words she didn't say.

* * *

Crispinus was given his old cell out of deference—and because Hardalio commanded it. At least, that's what Aleron told him when he came to give him his supper that night.

"Probably trying to ease his conscience," the guard said with a snort, handing over a bowl of barely porridge and a cup filled with something that looked like wet soil. "You would never guess that he used to be a plebian, the ostentatious fool. Though he's still better than that other one."

Crispinus made no comment. He did not want to talk about the consuls. Whether one was worse than the other did not matter at this point. He was here. It was done.

Crispinus frowned as he took his meal. "This isn't your job," he said. He swished the dirty water around in its cup. "And, frankly, I can see why."

Aleron scowled. "Gratitude, my friend, would not be remiss here." He gestured to the object of Crispinus' disgusted interest. "That's bone ash. It will keep you strong."

Crispinus eyed the liquefied remains of previous slaves swirling around in his cup and decided he felt strong enough without it. He set the cup and the bowl on the table behind him.

"It's the only thing I could be sure Cato hadn't poisoned," the guard said.

"Poisoned?" Crispinus' laugh was bitter. "I'm to be executed tomorrow, Aleron. What's a few hours difference?" He'd meant the question as a verbal wonderment about the impatience of his vindictive master, but as he spoke, he wondered if he hadn't finally succumbed to fatalism. What _did_ a few hours matter?

"Yes, well," Aleron shrugged stiffly, taking the question as it was first meant, "it's only a precaution. I haven't seen Cato around since leaving the forum, so odds are the food's fine. But he could have easily sent someone, and we both know how spiteful he can be. Better safe than…." He shrugged again. Crispinus stared at the guard. Hardalio didn't seem to be the only one trying to ease his conscience. Aleron stared back, daring him to say something.

"How many will be there tomorrow?" Crispinus asked finally, when the extended silence had developed an insect-like buzz to it.

Aleron knew immediately what he was referring to and leapt on the change of topic with aplomb. "Thirteen others, besides you. That is, if no one else figures out how to kill themselves in the meantime. One stupid bastard managed to get his head through the spokes of one of the _Raeda_ 's wheels during transport."

"What happened to him?"

"He lost his head. In more ways than one."

Crispinus dropped down into the seat next to the table. "Has the… method been decided on yet?"

Aleron's expression wasn't unsympathetic as he met his gaze. "Pairs. With a beast for the last."

Pairs… where the condemned faced off in one-on-one matches with the sole survivor being fed to some wild, half-starved animal. _Gods_. And here he'd thought waiting in line for his throat to be slit would be bad. Crispinus cursed, long and fluently. He should have expected it. It was a crowd favorite, after all, and with a star gladiator on the execution list, of course they'd want it to last—want him to make one final stand.

"I don't suppose you have any say on the order?" he said to Aleron.

"Why? Itching to go first?"

"Last, actually."

The guard looked at him in startled amusement. "Don't tell me you're squeamish about killing them? You're a gladiator!"

"Exactly. The men I'll be facing are untrained. It will be a bloodbath."

"They're going to die anyway. If you think going last will spare them—"

"It will spare _me_ ," Crispinus snapped, "from going to the Underworld with the blood of innocents fresh on my hands."

"They are hardly what I'd call innocent."

"Nevertheless." Crispinus scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling very tired all of a sudden. He wondered, with an odd sense of detachment, if Aleron would bring him the food that might be poisoned, if he asked. If he could end his life now, in private and on a full stomach, wouldn't that almost be better?

_But_ _then_ _I_ _would_ _be_ _leaving_ _Kate_ _that_ _much_ _sooner._ It was a stupid thing to think, since, for all intents and purposes, he had already left her, but at least alive they shared the same plain of existence. Here, she was still somewhere he could reach, if only hypothetically. Was he wrong to want to hang on to that?

He thought of how she'd looked as he'd been led away, at once both furious and despairing. The image was seared into his mind, as painful as any hot iron rod. How much did she hate him for abandoning her, after he'd promised he would never leave her? Would she remember him fondly at all? He had no right to want it, but, oh, how he wished…

"—can do," Aleron was saying.

Crispinus looked up. When had he dropped his head? "What?"

"I said, I'll see what I can do, about the order tomorrow. No promises though."

"That's all I ask."

After the guard had left, Crispinus picked at the porridge, but he was too agitated to settle down and eat. He paced the room. He used to be quite fond of the place, amazing how now he could barely stand to acknowledge where he was. Privacy was nearly nonexistent when you were a gladiator. You had to either come from a great family or shed a lot of blood. It had taken Crispinus over three years to get the room, and another year for the table, chair, and straw mattress. He'd felt so accomplished then. And when his cynicism began to bite deep, he'd been even more thankful for a place to escape to.

Now he was trapped in it.

He sat back down, dropping his head into his hands. His hair curled around his fingers. Kate had been so taken she'd been with it. What he wouldn't give to feel her hands on him one more time…

A sudden, soft tapping had Crispinus bolting to his feet, his chair clattering as it fell over. He stared at the door, hope rearing against the impossibility of it.

"Kate?"

_Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap._

Crispinus' heart pounded. Common sense said it wasn't her. She never would have made it in even if she'd convinced Scipio to bring her. But then, hadn't she made it in before, unbeknownst to all the guards _and_ Crispinus? He never did get a clear answer how she'd managed that.

He crossed the room hesitantly. Afraid it was her; afraid it wasn't. He pressed a shaking hand to the door. "Kate?"

A pause. Then a cold, female voice whispered, "Not Kate."

Crispinus jerked back. As if she'd seen his reaction, the woman laughed.

Embarrassed and angry that he had let himself be tricked so easily, Crispinus slammed his fists against the door hard enough to make it shudder. "Leave, Valencia. Or you will not like what happens to you."

"Your threats are empty ones, gladiator," she told him quietly. "Mine, however, are not. I told you I would kill you, didn't I? At the bathhouse."

He thought back. She had, but he'd assumed it was just her hurt pride letting her temper get away from her. If anyone should be holding grudges, it should be _him_ for what she'd done to Kate. "You're still upset about that?" he said.

"Am I still _upset_?" It was her turn to slam her hands against the door. "You rejected me! You! A nobody. A _slave_. Did you think I would just let that go?"

He had, actually. Even with such a black heart, she was rich enough and beautiful enough to catch a much better man than him. He'd assumed after she'd calmed down a bit she'd realize that and move on. Apparently, he'd been mistaken.

"Well if you've come to kill me, all you'll have to do is wait a day," he told her. "I'm sure you've heard about my impending execution?" He kept his voice as careless as possible, as if he was unaffected by his coming demise.

"Oh yes, I have." She dragged her nails down the wood. the sound raised the fine hairs on the back of Crispinus' neck. "I arranged it, after all."

Crispinus stilled. At his extended silence, Valencia snickered and said, "Did that surprise you? You didn't honestly believe that Cato was smart enough—or stupid enough, I should say—to make the charges that he did today? That was me, love, all me."

"You're…" Anger made his words feel thick on his tongue. "You mean _you're_ the reason I'm here?"

"Mmm, yes." Her voice deepened with passion. "Have I impressed you yet, Crispinus? You know that's all I've ever wanted to do was impress you."

He shook his head and backed away from the door, half expecting her vileness to start seeping through the cracks like some noxious mist.

"You sicken me," he said.

Valencia sucked in a breath. "Do I? Well then, please, let me make it up to you with some good news," she said, her voice turning vicious. "I know you must be worried about that flea-ridden _bitch_ you've been traveling around with. You want to stay with her, don't you? I know you do. That's why I sent out Cato to do one last job for me. Well, it's really for _you_."

Crispinus' heart went cold. "No."

"What's the matter?" Valencia asked with mocking concern. "Isn't it better this way? Now, she'll already be in Elysium when you die tomorrow, waiting for you. It's my gift to you, Crispinus. Isn't it sweet of me? Do I sicken you now?"

Crispinus stood there, his whole body trembling. _No._ _No!_ He was so enraged it physically hurt. It felt like there was a lion shredding his insides, wanting out, needing to get out and kill, destroy. He had to protect Kate. He had to—

"I swear, Valencia. I swear, if you hurt her—" he whispered.

"What are you going to do?" she hissed. "You are locked up. You can't get out. Accept that she is lost and go to you death quickly tomorrow. The sooner you die the sooner you will get to see her again."

"No! I will not let—"

"What's going on here?" A new voice on the other side of the door had Crispinus verbally fumbling for a minute. "Who are you? You don't have permission to be down here."

It was a guard. His voice was unfamiliar. He must be new. Crispinus pounded on his door. "Let me out! This woman is plotting murder! You have to stop her! Open this door!"

"What's he going on about?" demanded the guard.

"I—I don't know," Valencia said in a tearful voice. "I've been a fan of his for years. I was only coming to give my condolences and to s-say goodbye…"

" _Lies!_ " Crispinus roared.

"Please forgive me," she continued. "My name is Valencia. Consul Valerius is my father. I didn't think—"

"The Consul?" said the guard.

Crispinus cursed. He should have known.

The guard was immediately contrite. He apologized to Valencia for raising his voice to her, but suggested strongly that she take her leave now, as it was very dangerous to be around the prisoners unescorted, even if they were locked away. Valencia readily agreed, and asked if he would accompany her, as she was feeling very upset and weak after listening to the gladiator malign her so.

"Of course," said the guard.

"No!" Crispinus shouted, banging on the door again. "Don't listen to her! She's planning to commit murder! You have to stop her! Make her tell you—"

"Quiet, you," snapped the guard, giving the door a hard kick. "I won't hear you insult the consul's daughter anymore. After you, my dear."

_"No!"_ Crispinus continued to yell long after they had left the passageway. He felt as if he were trapped in some terrible nightmare. Maybe Aleron had messed up and given him the poisoned food instead, and now he was hallucinating or already dead, and this was his Tartarus. Kate couldn't die because of his stupid actions. She couldn't. Gods, anything but that.

Crispinus wasn't aware of when he started yelling for Kate instead of the guard. His roar echoed down the passageway, riling the other slaves in their rooms. He felt as if something inside of him was splitting, a wound through which his sanity was bleeding. He had to see—had to save—

" _Kate!_ "

* * *

It took hours for Kate's leftover adrenaline to drain away, but once it did, it took all of her energy with it. She pressed her forehead against the window, telling herself she needed to stay awake for when Evodius arrived but starting to wonder if he was going to show up. Shouldn't he have been here by now?

Sunset had come and gone. It had stopped raining, finally, and the humidity had fogged up the panes of glass like a hot mist. Kate let her eyes slip shut. She felt tired and useless and oh-so-alone. Which was why, when she heard her brother's voice, calling for her in a dream, she surrendered to unconsciousness and went to him gratefully.

"You made it," he said when she appeared before him, sounding both surprised and relieved. He broke out into a triumphant grin. "Ha! It worked. I can't believe it. Not a second too soon either. I thought I was going to shout myself hoarse. Not to mention run out of room to put things."

Kate looked around. "You… brought all this stuff?" she said.

The room they were in reminded her of the inn she'd first stayed at with Crispinus, only this one was filled with junk. Familiar junk. Here was a copy of her first paycheck and the first magazine she'd ever been published in. And there, over on her mother's old dresser, the picture of her father, displayed openly as it had never been in real life. Clothes she'd owned at one time or another lay in haphazard piles across the floor. Her favorite books were stacked on the rickety chair where she had sat when Crispinus had given her his cloak, boots, and knife.

" _Brought_ isn't the right word," he said. " _Thought_ _up_ , maybe? I've been trying to call you for awhile now. I thought maybe having things you had a personal connection with would help draw you to me. This lucid dreaming business is harder than you'd think."

"You've been at this for days?" said Kate, touched.

"Yeah. And every time I woke up I had to start all over. No saving, apparently." He made a gestured that said, _whaddaya_ _gonna_ _do?_

"How did you know about the room?"

"What? Oh, I didn't have control over that. Sorry about the poor accommodations," he said dryly.

"No, it's…" But her voice died as her gaze landed on the bed behind him, and the still figure curled up under the covers. Her mind balked, even as she recognized who it was.

"Mom?"

Jason started, a particularly guilty expression crossing his face when she glanced at him. "Kate, wait—"

He tried to block her way when she stepped toward the bed and Kate shoved him. Her brother cursed but caught his balance quicker than she would've liked and managed to grab her by the shoulders, pulling her back against him when she struggled. "Don't. It's not her. You know it's not."

"But she looks so—"

"I know." He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. "I know."

Kate's hands trembled and fisted them. "Is she…?"

"Alive?" Jason shook his head. "I don't know. I didn't mean to… She just popped into my head when I was thinking of things you might respond to, and then she was just… there. Like I said, this lucid dreaming business is harder than you'd think." he let out a shaky breath. "She's breathing, but I've been here awhile and she hasn't done anything else, not even when I yell. I don't know if it's because in the real world she's not… around anymore, but she won't wake up."

Kate eyes teared as she stared at the woman in the bed. "She looks… peaceful. And healthy." Her voice cracked on the last word. "You did a good job, remembering her that way. Sometimes I have trouble…"

"Me too."

Kate turned away from the bed and the heartbreaking figure in it. She took a few calming breaths and looked at her brother. In a forced lighter voice said said, "So. When did you finally believe me about this dreaming thing?"

Jason laughed wryly. "I think I finally accepted it around the fifth shot of vodka. Maybe the sixth."

Kate snorted. "Unnerved you a bit, did it?"

"Oh yeah."

"And you're usually the one who likes these kinds of supernatural things."

"I like watching specials about it," he corrected. "Actually having my twin sister get sent back in time by a… a…"

"A goddess," Kate whispered.

"Yeah. That, not so much."

Kate found herself smiling. "How bad was your hangover?"

"Not as bad as Paul's."

She gaped at him "He knows too? And _believes_ it?"

"He does. He's actually the reason I'm here right now."

"What'd he do, knock you out?" She threw the question out flippantly, but inside she was… surprised. Her father helped Jason find her? That was... She didn't want to call it nice, but it was. It was downright sweet of him, and more understanding than she'd thought him capable of.

Her brother rolled his eyes. " _No_ , Miss Sarcasm. He happened to know an anesthesiologist willing to put out an American intern. For a price. Which, thank god he has because I would have been out of luck otherwise."

Kate was aghast. "You mean you've got some morally corrupt doctor keeping you knocked out right now?" She punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"You idiot! That can't be good for you! Why couldn't you just wait to fall asleep like a normal person?"

"Because I tried that and it wasn't working!" he snapped, rubbing his shoulder. "Plus, it takes time, and I want you home _now_."

"How is seeing me like this going to get me home?" Kate demanded.

Jason looked both sheepish and defensive at that. "I haven't figured it all out yet, all right? Maybe, if we held hands when I woke up I could pull you through with me…"

"This is a _dream_ , Jason," Kate told him impatiently, angry at herself for picking on his plan when he was only trying to help and angry at her brother for not noticing such a giant flaw himself. She loved him, she really did, but his ability to overlook things was maddening sometimes. "I can't just hitchhike back with you. My body is still in an apartment complex in Ancient Rome."

From behind her a voice said, "I believe I can help with that."

Kate whirled, startled, and crashed into Jason. A woman stood in the doorway. Graceful hands tugged back the ratty curtain she had entered through.

Even with all the questions spinning through Kate's mind, she found herself pausing to admire how... absolutely stunning the woman was. Even the shapeless black robes she wore could not hide her beauty. Unblemished olive skin stretched over strong cheekbones and chin. She had eyes the color of gold, so big and with such thick lashes Kate would have called them "doe eyes," except the sweet innocence usually inferred by the term wasn't there. This was a woman who had seen some things, bad things, in her life, and planned to see many more.

Jason took Kate's wrist. Lowering his head, he whispered, "Is this the one?"

He thought the woman was Aphrodite. Kate shook her head. "No, I don't know who this is." But she had managed to show up within their dream, which Kate thought might make her even more powerful than the goddess of Love.

The woman's golden eyes flashed with amusement. In a mocking voice she said, "I am Lachesis, the Fate of Time."

"You… you're a _Fate_?" croaked Jason, but Kate was over being impressed by supernatural beings, she was much more concerned about the woman's intentions.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

The Fate of Time cocked her head. "Because you, mortal, are several centuries out of your respective time period. I am here to fix that."

"You want to send me home?"

Lachesis bowed her head. "Yes."

Suspicion niggled. "Why now?"

"Kate, why are you arguing this?" Jason whispered. "If she can get you home then just let her do it!"

"But there has to be a reason she's doing this _now_ , instead of yesterday or tomorrow," Kate whispered back. "She's the Fate of _Time_ , right? That means timing is everything to her."

"You think there's some kind of catch?" He gave the Fate a sideways look. "What are you planning to get out of this?" he asked.

"Planning to get?" Lachesis echoed. "Nothing. My job is to keep order. That is all I want. To reestablish order."

After giving her another hard look—assumingly to gauge her sincerity—he turned to Kate. "What do you think?" he whispered. "Do you believe her?"

Kate looked at the Fate, standing there so intently with her shining gold eyes, and found that she did, very much, believe her. Regardless of the why, if Kate said okay, she'd send her home right now, just like that, and it would all be over. Kate would be home, safe, finally, with her family and friends, back to her own life in the future where she belonged.

Or so she used to think.

Kate's gaze landed on the rickety chair, not seeing the many books but imagining that morning when Crispin had outfitted her with all of his things. He'd been so grumpy about it, but he'd cared and worried about her, even then. This room—it had come automatically when Jason had wanted a place that would call to her. Who knew how it had come for him, but there was no question that it was a stronger lure than all the stuff that filled it, or even the figure still sleeping calmly in the bed.

"I can't leave without Crispin," she said.

"Who?" said Jason.

"Crispin."

"Oh, that guy." Her brother had an odd look on his face. "I seriously wondered if I had imagined that part of our conversation up."

"You didn't imagine it. And I can't leave him."

"Why?"

He knew damn well why, but he was going to make her say it. She met his gaze squarely.

"Because I love him."

"You do?" But his tone said he didn't doubt her. Kate felt herself break out into a smile, even happier when Jason did the same. She'd been worrying and worrying about her true feelings for Crispin, if she'd just been settling because she had nowhere else to go, and here, now, she was finally able to lay those worries to rest. It wasn't lack of options that made her choose Crispin. Here the Fate of Time was offering her a chance to go home, and without Crispin, she had no desire to take it.

Well, she amended, feeling sadness well up at the sight of her brother, not _enough_ desire.

Her smile dimmed some.

"I love him," she said again. "And I'm going to stay."

"But the gladiator will be dead by noon tomorrow." Lachesis voice was soft, but struck Kate at her core.

Kate flinched. "You don't know that."

Lachesis' expression turned into one of warning. "I am the Fate of Time. I know everything."

But Scipio had gone for help, and she trusted him to figure something out. Plus, who knew what she might think of herself between now and then.

"He's dying?" said Jason.

Lachesis nodded.

"No," said Kate. "Nothing's for sure until it happens, and I _won't_ let that happen."

The Fate's eyes turned molten. Jason tugged Kate back.

"It's his fate to die a gladiator," Lachesis hissed. "You _cannot_ change that."

"But—" But Kate _had_ changed that, hadn't she? When she first met him, she had given him the means to his escape. And yes, he'd wound up back in the coliseum, but there was nothing saying she couldn't free him again. And this time she could make sure they stayed gone, unlike—

"That's why you came now," Kate said, realization striking. "Because last time I got Crispin away before you could stop me, so you waited until he was taken as a slave again before coming to try and 'help' me go home. You just want me gone so I can't mess up your plans again!"

"You're messing up _fate_ , little mortal!" Lachesis said, voice dangerous.

"I make my own fate!" Kate yelled. "And if I want to save him then I will!"

"You cannot even save yourself," said Lachesis. "Even as we speak, your death draws near. If you do not return to your own time now you will not survive the night."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Kate," said Jason, his worry clear, "If you're in danger than you need to come home."

"I'm always in danger," she scoffed, which was sadly true enough. Her heart was beating rather fast, though. Was it normal to feel your heartbeat in a dream? "She's just trying to scare me."

"She's scaring _me_ ," her brother said with feeling, keeping a wary eye on the seething Fate in front of them. "And I'm not going to let you risk your life for some guy with a dumb name."

_Let_ her?

Kate opened her mouth to start berating him about a little movement called women's liberation, but stopped when she noticed her brother's gaze wasn't quite on her anymore—it was on the person in the bed. Kate's heart constricted. She suddenly thought she knew the real reason why Jason had been thinking about their mother hard enough to make her appear here, and it wasn't because he thought Kate needed her.

"I love you, Jason," she said, making his attention snap back to her, expression slightly confused. "And I'm so sorry about putting you through all of this."

His gaze softened. "I know. It's not your fault. And I love you too. But you need to come home now."

He held out his hand. Kate smiled but shook her head, backing away from him and the glaring Fate across from them.

"No. I'm going to stay. Crispin needs me and I… I need him."

"But the Fate says—"

"Screw Fate!" And here Kate turned to Lachesis. "I'm going to save him. And you're just going to have to deal with one person not dying by your schedule."

"I am," she said, and for the first time she looked regretful. "But that person will not be the gladiator. It will be you."

"The room!" Jason exclaimed. Kate looked. It didn't take long to figure out what had him so worked up. The walls were growing crooked, silently buckling under some giant invisible weight. The stuff surrounding them began to darken, fading away like a memory forgotten.

"I'm waking up!" he yelled. " _Kate_!" He held out his hand again. "Kate, _please_."

But Kate could only shake her head, and back farther away in case he got it in his head to grab her.

"I'm sorry, Jason. But weren't you always the one to encourage me to find love?"

"And you've found it, and I couldn't be happier. But I didn't mean for you to go risking your life!"

"Did you think I would just let go once I found it?" she said, amused even as the pain in his eyes cut at her.

Jason cursed, face twisting with too many emotions to count, but his hand finally dropped. "No," he whispered. "No, I didn't think that."

He went blurry for a second. Kate thought it was part of the dream collapsing, but no, it was just tears. The Fate had vanished. It was just the two of them now, plus their mother, still dreaming inside their dream. Behind his glasses, Kate saw that Jason's eyes were filling as fast as hers.

"I'm going to miss you," said Kate.

"I'm going to miss you, too," said Jason. And then, in a fiercer voice, "Keep yourself safe, you got that? I'm going to look for you, in the history books. I better find that you lived to a ripe old age with at least one kid named after me."

Kate didn't have the heart to point out to him that the odds of her making it to any kind of standing that would not only be worthy of record, but one that would last through the centuries, was slim to none. Instead, she only said, "I will."

And then her dearest brother, her twin, dissolved into nothingness, and Kate felt herself yanked back to consciousness.

She woke to the smell of smoke, and screaming.


	21. Chapter Twenty

Jason woke up crying, as if someone had been holding an onion under his nose while he'd been out. The tears trickled in a smooth stream down his cheeks, unperturbed when he swiped at them, and unabating.

"He's awake!"

The shout came from right next to his ear and he flinched. Across the room, the doctor rose from behind his desk, tossing aside a newspaper that had been thoroughly disassembled. Paul sat crouched in front of Jason. He clasped his son's hand between his own, eyes wide and anxious as he whispered, "What happened? Did you reach her?"

The question clamped around Jason's heart and lungs, making his heartbeat stutter and his breath catch. Goddamn it hurt. He'd awoken accepting that this was going to be his new reality, one in which his dearest sister, his twin, would no longer be a part, but acceptance was not the same as peace, and he realized that would be much longer in coming.

Without answering, Jason gently disentangled himself from his father's grip and rose to a sitting position on the couch, avoiding the concerned gaze that followed him. His back protested the move with several loud pops. The old furniture wasn't up to supporting a full-grown man for so many hours, and had taken out its displeasure on his spine.

The doctor leaned over him, shining a light in first one eye and then the other. "How do you feel?" he asked in accented but clear English.

How did he _feel_? He felt crippled. He felt as if he'd lost an intangible part of himself and now ghost pains were haunting the vacant space inside of him that only a short while ago had been filled with wholeness, connection, and love.

But Jason knew that was not what the doctor was referring to, so he shook his head and croaked out, "Fine. A little nauseous maybe," which was true enough.

The doctor nodded. "Perfectly normal, don't worry. The feeling should pass shortly."

Jason dropped his head into his hands so he could surreptitiously wiped at his tears again. They refused to stop, splattering onto his glasses and blinding him doubly.

Paul stood to shake the doctor's hand. He thanked him profusely in Italian, saying afterward in English, "May we have a minute alone?"

Jason didn't hear the man's reply, but it must have been a yes because he left. Paul took a seat on the couch, close enough that Jason felt the cushion dip. He could sense the tension radiating off the older man's body like a low vibration. After a long, silent moment, Paul said, "Did it not work? Because we could always try again—"

Jason shook his head, cutting his father off. He forced himself to take a deep breath and straightened, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them with the edge of his shirt, keeping his eyes averted. He didn't want to see the pity he knew would be on the man's face if he looked at him now.

"No," he said in a careful monotone, "it worked. I saw Kate. She…" _Left_ _me._ _Isn't_ _coming_ _back._ _Angered_ _Fate._ _Might_ _be_ _in_ _danger_ _and_ _I_ _can't_ _help_ _her!_ "She decided to stay."

More silence. He could feel his father's gaze on him, taking in more than he should. Jason's hand clenched around the wire frames.

In a voice just as unemotional as his own, Paul said, "I see." Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. Jason didn't have the fortitude to make sure. He put his glasses back on. At least the tears had finally stopped.

"Did she at least say why?" Paul asked.

Jason's smile was sardonic. "For love. Damn it to hell."

He felt more than saw Paul nod. His father relaxed back on the couch. "So that's it then."

Jason was turning to look at him before he remembered he'd been trying to avoid doing just that. That's it? That's _it_? Paul said it as if it were regrettable but of no great consequence, as if Jason hadn't just lost the closest person to him in the world besides his wife and child. The person he'd known, loved, and fought to protect all his life.

For the first time ever, Jason found himself genuinely angry at his father.

"How can you be so—" _Heartless._ _Cold_. "—blasé? You were so upset that she was gone and now you're _fine_ _with_ _it_?"

He all but yelled the last part. Paul raised his eyebrows at him. In a reproachful voice tempered with sympathy he said, "I am not altogether fine with it, no. But it's what she wants, so I will honor her wishes."

Jason looked away, properly chastised. He had thought the same thing during the dream with Kate. It was why it had been possible for him to resist reaching out and grabbing his stubborn sister, demanding she come back with him and telling her "To hell with Crispy-treats!" But he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that there was a small part of him that regretted showing so much restraint.

As if sensing this, Paul said, "You wanted her to be happy, didn't you?"

He stared until his son nodded grudgingly.

"And you wanted her to find love, yes?"

"Well, yes. But not—"

" _Yes_?"

"Yes! But—"

"Then be happy for her. Support her."

Jason blew out a frustrated breath, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "I can't support her because she's not _here_! That's the point!"

Paul waved that away. "Support her with your heart. If you do that, where she is won't matter."

"But I can't keep her _safe_."

Jason jumped as Paul's hands came down, heavily, onto his shoulders. The older man looked him in straight in the eye, catching his attention and holding it, and Jason got chills at being on the receiving end of such a fatherly stare. It was sympathetic yet demanded he listen. It acknowledged that he was smart but said he still had a lot left to learn about life. Jason found himself feeling both humbled and defiant.

"You can't keep everyone safe, son," Paul told him softly. "Not forever."

"But this is different."

"You'd like to think so, but it's not."

"It is."

His father shook his head. "The circumstances might be a bit… unorthodox. But at its core, the situation is the same as if Kate had gotten married and gone away. She's moved on with her life, Jason. She's no longer your responsibility and it's time to let her go." Paul gave him a single, hard shake, his gaze unyielding. "She needs you to let her go."

Jason's clenched his fists. But before he could argue further he was released, both from his father's stare and his restraining hands.

Paul gave him a push towards the door. "Go home to your wife and child. They're the ones that need you now."

Jason caught the doorknob and for a moment stayed frozen there under the pretense of steadying himself. Leaving the room would be officially declaring his search over, but staying would accomplish nothing. He needed to move on; his father was right.

Boy, would Kate have been pissed about that.

The thought caused him pain along with an odd pulse of amusement, and Jason knew it was an emotional juggling act he would have to learn to master if he ever wanted to think about his sister again with untainted happiness.

He looked back at Paul who stood a few feet behind him, waiting for him to step out and go. They'd allied together to help Kate, but no promises had been made about the future. Though Jason held no ill will toward the man like his sister did, nor had he had any interest in forming a close or lasting connection. And as badly as he knew his father wanted to make amends, he said nothing about keeping in touch, or making promises to see each other again. He was letting Jason set the boundaries, and that more than anything made Jason say, "I'll call you. Who knows, maybe when I finish my internship and get some free time, I'll bring the family back for a visit."

Paul's smile was one of joy, gratitude, and hope. "I'd like that."

And Jason found, surprisingly, that he would too.

* * *

Kate came awake slowly, as if pulling her consciousness from a pool of syrup. She was in the same position she'd fallen asleep in, slumped in her chair with her forehead pressed against the windowpane. She felt disoriented and sluggish. Her little dreaming session had not been long or restful. If anything, she felt more exhausted than she had before conking out. Which was probably why it took her so long to make sense of what she was seeing outside.

Everything had been dark and quiet when she had gone to sleep, as peaceful as a bad neighborhood in a cutthroat world could be, but now the street was lit by an unnatural yellow-orange glow that danced with the shadows and grew brighter with every excited flicker and turn. Ash floated past the glass like gray flower petals, pirouetting around the swarm of people that flooded the streets below.

Kate stare as women fled with melodramatic fervor, some with wailing children in tow. Men ran around bellowing orders. Shouts like, "More water!" and, "Get away for there!" carried over the crackling roar of what was unmistakably the sound of fire.

Fire.

Shit, the building was on fire!

Kate shot to her feet, tripping over her chair in her haste and falling onto her hands and knees as a wave of dizziness swept her. The room was sweltering, and though she couldn't see smoke, she could smell it.

She scrambled up, shoving open the door and dashing out into the hallway. Thick black clouds clogged the ceiling. Kate gasped, inhaling a lungful of the suffocating fumes and immediately breaking out into a coughing fit.

Cursing herself for being stupid, she ducked down where the air was marginally fresher and covered her mouth and nose with the edge of her stolla. She took off for the stairwell, eyes burning, hoping, _praying_ that the way would be clear. The smoke was growing visibly lower by the second. Most of the building was made of cheap wood. It wouldn't last long against such a blaze.

She caught sight of the stairs and skidded to a stop. Flames had entwined themselves around the rails of the banister, the wood popping and crackling as the fire gnawed on it gleefully.

No luck. Dead end.

Something heavy slammed into Kate from behind, knocking her sideways into the wall. A man ran past her, his gaze blind with panic as he rushed towards the stairs. Animalistic sniveling sounds were escaping from his throat. He was naked and looked utterly crazed, but Kate made a grab for him and managed to catch his wrist.

"No! You can't go that way!" she yelled at him, but he shook her off with a snarl that faded to pitiful whining once he was free and took off again. He didn't so much as slow when he reached the stairs, as if he believed that if he moved fast enough, the fire wouldn't latch onto him.

Kate watched, horrified, as the flames flicked out to taste his arms and legs like the burning tongues of a hundred snakes, undaunted when the man tried to smack them away. His arms and legs started to smoke as the tiny hairs there began to singe.

His bare foot came down heavy on a particularly black step and the wood snapped. The man let out a loud howl as he tumbled into the banister, the fire wrapping around his flesh like the embrace of a lonely lover succumbed to madness. His howl became a shriek as his stringy dark hair was engulfed. He crashed down the rest of the flight and out of sight, his noises of agony consumed by the roar of the fire.

Sick and terrified, Kate whirled to go the other way. Already she had to bend nearly in half to keep her head out of the smoke. Another man appeared ahead of her, this one dressed and in slightly better control of himself. He saw her and yelled, "This way!" before ducking into an open doorway. Kate ran after him. Sweat trickled down her body in rivulets and her eyes were streaming.

She reached the doorway to the room. The man had grabbed a chair and hurled it at a nearby window. The glass cracked but didn't break. The man raised the chair again.

"What are you doing?" she yelled, the question causing her to suck in more smoke and she doubled over in another coughing fit.

"We can jump. We have to jump." He hit the window again. The crack spider-webbed.

"This is the _fourth_ _floor_!"

But he only shook his head in a spastic and not entirely sane manner and swung again. The chair connected and glass shattered. The smoke surged forward as fresh air filled the room. From out in the hallway the fire roared toward them in a fury.

_Shit._

Kate barely had time to yell out a warning and throw herself down in an adjoining room before the flames reached them, the influx of oxygen sucking the fire to it like a magnet. It blew past her doorway, blacking the frame, and straight at the man in front of the window. Kate didn't hear him scream, but when the back draft subsided enough for her to look, he was gone.

Kate lay there, stunned and too terrified to move. Lachesis' words seemed to whisper to her from the rising heat _:_ _Your_ _death_ _draws_ _near_ _…_ _._ _You_ _will_ _not_ _survive_ _the_ _night_ _…_

Kate cursed and pounded a fist against the floor. No! Damn it she refused to accept this! Fate had been wrong before and would be wrong again. She was going to get out of this. She was going to get out of this and then she was going to save Crispin. She would tell him she loved him and then, well—Kate wiped at her eyes and began to crawl towards a rumpled-looking bed in the corner—he damn well better say he loved her back!

Staying low, Kate grabbed the blanket covering the lumpy mattress and pulled it over herself. She remembered only too well the feeling of being burned with the knife. The thought of going through that again, times a hundred, made her feel sick and shaky.

_Just stay calm. Stay positive. You can do this. Think!_

Kate fingered the fabric covering her, wishing there was some way to wet it to give her better protection.

She spotted a clay pot to her right and grabbed for it. The fire had entered the bedroom now, creeping over the ceiling along with the smoke, making it all the more deadly because she couldn't see it.

The object of her interest turned out to be a chamber pot. Better than oil, but not as great as water.

Holding her breath against the smell, she dumped the mess over the blanket, soaking it. Then she wrapped the wet fabric around herself and made for the hall on her hands and knees before she lost her nerve.

Smoke had taken over. Kate squinted through tear-clogged eyes as she made her way toward the far end of the building. There had to be a second set of stairs around here somewhere.

Kate banged into the wall as the hallway turned sharply to the right. She sucked in a gasp of hot, ash-filled air only to cough it back out. Every breath she took burned her throat and made her cough, leaving her more needy for oxygen than she'd been before. Kate thought she remembered hearing a firefighter saying once that it wasn't fire that usually killed people, but the smoke. She picked up her pace. She was already as low as she could get and still be able to crawl. Luckily, the fire didn't seem to have reached this end of the building yet, and after a minute or so even the smoke began to ease off some, though she was still gagging on every other breath.

The building gave an ominous moan that was louder than even the fire. The floor and walls shifted alarmingly around her. Instinct had Kate freezing and looking for something to hold onto, but she shook off the impulse and kept going, fast as she could. If the building collapsed, she was dead no matter if she was still or moving, clinging onto something or not.

The floor abruptly disappeared out from under her and Kate suffered a moment of pure panic, sure the floor had given way and she would fall to her death, but then her hand hit a wood slate and she realized she'd found the other set of stairs. Fire-free stairs!

Hacking, eyes beyond seeing, she grabbed the first step and pulled herself down on her belly, letting momentum send her into a controlled slide. For two flights she did this, but when she hit the second floor landing she grabbed the railing to keep herself from going down any further.

The last flight of stairs was gone. What was left was a gaping chasm that spewed heat and more noxious-smelling smoke. The whole bottom floor was engulfed. Kate scrambled back.

The walls around her screeched and she felt the floor shudder. Her head was buzzing from lack of oxygen, her lungs screaming for air she didn't have to give them. Another minute, maybe two, and she'd be done.

Gritting her teeth, Kate pushed herself to her feet and, keeping a tight grip on the blanket, made a dash into the first room she could find. She was close enough to the ground now. If she could find a window and jump, she had a good chance of surviving. Distantly, she could hear people still screaming and yelling outside. Kate followed the sound, feeling the flow of smoke pushing at her back as it, too, searched for ways to escape.

Her fingers hit glass— _There!_ —and she scrabbled to find a latch. After a few seconds of fruitless searching, she remembered how the other man had been forced to break the window. She looked about for something she could use, but she couldn't see, and any second her willpower was going to burst and she was going to have to breathe, and then the smoke would get her and she'd be done.

Panicking, Kate tore off the blanket and wrapped it around her fist. Then, taking aim and steadying herself, she smashed her fist as hard as she could into the glass.

Pain shot up her hand as the glass gave way. Smoke whooshed out. Kate knocked away as much of the glass as she could and then shoved herself through the opening, not even feeling the leftover, sharp edges that cut into her skin as she went.

Sweet oxygen blew against her face and Kate gulped it in, coughs wracking her body. Below was chaos. People everywhere with pots of water and armfuls of possessions they were trying to save. Nowhere good to aim for, and no time. The building shrieked as it went into a grinding sway.

Wrapping the blanket back around her, Kate jumped.

* * *

Persephone and Aphrodite decided to look for Athena in the forest that surrounded the base of Mount Olympus, as it was one of her favorite haunts and where they knew they'd have the best chance of finding her.

Here the trees grew to staggering heights, their bows so thick and full a grown man could lay down on them and be easily supported. The sun filtered through where it could, so that a beam of soft golden sunlight might illuminate this bunch of toadstools, or that patch of exposed soil, this flower or that bush, warming the air and making the surrounding shadowed areas feel all the more cool and damp for the lack.

They found the goddess at the base of a giant Poplar tree, lounging between the exposed roots with her helmet and spear lay on the ground beside her.

There was a snake wrapped around her arm like living jewelry. It's jewel-green body stretched from wrist to shoulder, with its head raised so that immortal and reptile were eye-to-eye. If not for the fact that neither were moving their mouths, Persephone would have thought them in deep conversation.

An owl slept in the branches above her. As Persephone and Aphrodite drew close, it woke with an affronted hoot and puffed out its feathers. They stopped.

"Goddess," Persephone greeted formally and Aphrodite gave a curt bow of her head. Athena didn't so much as glance at them, keeping her gaze on the snake. It flicked its tongue against her cheek and she smiled as if receiving a child's kiss, ignoring them entirely.

Aphrodite stiffened at the slight, but Persephone placed a warning hand on her arm. She felt the insult too but knew they had to keep their tempers for them to have any hope in getting the goddess' help.

Persephone took a calming breath. One of her mother's favorite tactics was polite persistence. It was one of the better skills she'd acquired from her over the years.

She gestured to the scaly creature. "He's beautiful. What's his name?"

Athena eyed her. As if she was able to see her stubbornness, she relented and said, "Erich."

"He seems to like you a great deal."

"Why are you here, goddesses?"

So, no small talk then. Perhaps it was for the better. Aphrodite looked brittle enough to snap already.

"We need your help, Athena."

The snake ducked its head to curl around the goddess' shoulders. "Help you?" she said. "When you are so good at helping yourselves?"

Persephone frowned, genuinely puzzled. "Helping ourselves to what?"

Her sharp eyes flicked between the two of them. In a voice that trembled with indignation she answered, "To gladiators. To _lust_. To forging love where no love should be."

So she already knew about Scipio. They had known she probably would, but it was still discouraging. Aphrodite hissed, "That is none of your business."

Persephone grimaced. That was _not_ going to win them Athena's affection.

"Love," she whispered, "You need to—" She never got to finish. Because at that moment, Hermes exploded out of the bushes and plowed right into her.

Persephone yelped as she was knocked off her feet. Only a quick catch and some fancy wing-work from Hermes' shoes saved them from going down.

"Goddess! Goddess I found Hades." He was breathless, and looked terrified.

"You have?" Persephone could hardly believe the timing. She glanced back at Aphrodite and Athena, who hadn't noticed Hermes' arrival and who were now openly arguing with each other.

"This isn't about my choices," the Goddess of Love snapped. "This is about an innocent man you have the power to save."

"You're right," said Athena, "It is."

Aphrodite was momentarily taken aback by the woman's ready agreement. "So you'll aid us then?"

"No."

"Argh! So you're letting him die out of spite?"

"Goddess," Hermes whined, trying to pull Persephone's attention back to him. "Please, you need to listen to me."

"I am, I am," she said, but she couldn't take her eyes off the two women in front of her.

"No. I will let him die because he is fated to," said Athena.

"Persephone!" Hermes cried. "Hades is—"

"And who told you he was meant for such a fate?" demanded Aphrodite.

"We did." And from out of the trees the three Fate's stepped. Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos. All dressed in black. All the epitome of solemnity. And right behind them—

Persephone gasped. "Hades?"

"Hello, my love." He sounded exhausted, a suspicion that was confirmed when he drew close and a blanket of lethargy settled over everyone. Aphrodite immediately deflated. Athena blinked rapidly as if she could bat away the sleepiness. Persephone felt her limbs tremble with fatigue and leaned against a trunk of a nearby tree until the feeling passed. Only the Fates seemed unaffected.

"I told you the winged one would lead us to them," Atropos said. Standing at an even six feet, she was easily the tallest woman there. Her thick black hair hung in braid halfway down her back. She had sharp cheekbones and beautifully full lips. Her best feature though, was her stunning hazel eyes that with her dark skin, seemed to glow will barely leashed power.

"Yes," said Lachesis, narrowing her gaze at all of them before settling on Aphrodite, who took a step wary back. "Now we can finally settle this."

Persephone hardly heard them, her main focus on Hades alone. "What are you doing here?" she said. "And with them? Is that where you've been going all this time? To see _them?_ "

"I didn't have a choice," he said. "They kept stealing me away."

"Yes, we are quite sneaky," said Clotho, and she grinned like a mischievous child, her round cheeks dimpling.

"But why?" said Persephone.

"Because he started all this, and we wanted him to undo it," snapped Atropos. "But he's being stubborn and refuses to listen."

Persephone looked at Hades. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged, his expression both sheepish and defiant. "I didn't want to upset you. You were so happy that we found Agallon's soulmate. If you'd known that the Fates were, uh, displeased—" he shot the trio a nervous look, "I didn't want to ruin it for you."

What a sweet yet foolish man. He'd been worried since the beginning about making the Fates angry, and yet _she_ was the one who had insisted. And now, though the repercussions for her actions were only what one could expect, he was still fighting for her.

Her love and appreciation for him swelled, flooding the banks of her heart. She smiled softly at him and received and answering smile in return.

"We are more than displeased," said Lachesis, tossing a silky lock of hair over her shoulder. "Changing Agallon's fate has upset the balance we worked so hard to maintain. Never have we been undermined so thoroughly and with so little shame! Immortal or not all of you will be punished for this."

"That is," Atropos added, "if you do not change your tunes and help us correct this. Now."

"Punished how?" said Aphrodite.

Lachesis' smile was not a nice one. "Oh, the possibilities are endless. But for you, I think, we need only one."

She pulled out a small dagger. It looked like it had been carved from bone, blade and all. She shot the Goddess of Love a coy look. "Gladiators die so easily, don't they? They live such dangerous lives and they are so very… mortal." She looked to the taller Fate. "Atropos?"

From the sleeve of her robe, the Fate pulled out a thread, no thicker than a strand of hair. It shimmered faintly in the light as she held it taut against the dagger. "You know whose this is, I believe?"

They did: Scipio's. Aphrodite looked at Persephone, her eyes tragic. They knew the Fates never bluffed. They would make good on their threat if they didn't agree to help. But then Crispinus and Kate…

"Truly, we have no interest in your mortal lover or what you do with him," said Clotho to Aphrodite. "He is too insignificant for anything he may or may not do to have an affect on society, unlike Agallon. If you do this for us, we will leave him to you. You can spend the rest of his life loving him to your heart's content. In fact, we will even extend his life for as long as you wish to be with him."

"It's a fairer trade than you deserve," said Lachesis.

Aphrodite stood there, looking both furious and despairing. _Poor_ _Love,_ Persephone thought. _To_ _be_ _forced_ _in to_ _making_ _such_ _an_ _impossible_ _choice!_

Someone slid an arm around her shoulders and she jumped. But it was only Hades and she leaned into him gratefully, willing away the tears that threatened to blind her. She watched as her friend's morality warred with her desire for Scipio. Persephone's heart broke for her, but there was nothing she could do to help. Nothing any of them could do, but wait for Aphrodite's decision.

* * *

Crispin was calling for her. No, he was _bellowing_ for her, with all his might. Kate strove to pinpoint the location, the direction, but it was impossible. Blackness was everywhere. _She_ was everywhere. And nowhere. She wasn't conscious, but she wasn't dreaming either. She wasn't sure _what_ she was at the moment.

But it tore at her heart, that bellow. He sounded utterly panicked for her, and there was nothing she could do to reach him.

_I'm_ _fine!_ she wanted to say, though she wasn't sure that was true. He called for her again and his voice cracked on a furious sob. She had to reach him. No matter what, she _had_ to.

" _Kate!_ "

_I'm_ _coming_ , she thought, struggling to pull herself together and out of whatever dark pocket of unconscious she had fallen into. _Just_ _hold_ _on._ _I'm_ _coming._

A break of dim light appeared above her, no more than a slit. She willed herself to reach for it. Crispin's yell was fading. Not as if he were lowering his voice but as if she were drifting away, and Kate twisted back. Was she going the wrong way?

But then something moved in front of the light, and a dark haired man with a heavily scarred face was peering down at her with his one good eye. When he saw she was awake, he beamed, revealing several missing teeth.

"You're awake. Thank the gods."

"Who are—"

"Evodius," he said immediately. "Do you remember me, Kate? From the party?"

It took her a moment, but then the light bulb finally clicked and she nodded. Her brain synapses didn't seem to be firing very well. Or maybe it was the unholy amount of pain she was in that was making it hard to think. Impossible to tell where the hurt was coming from. Her entire body felt like one big bruise.

In a smoke-roughened voice that made her cough, she said to Evodius, "You're late."

He bowed his head. "Forgive me. I was out performing at patrician Caedicius Noctua's dinner party. By the time the messenger boy Scipio sent found me it was—"

She quickly waved a hand to stop him. Her left one, since her right felt as if her bones had been replaced with broken bits of glass. "S'fine. Only joking. Where are we?"

They were in a room that was cool and dark save for a few torches that lined the walls, illuminating the still waters of the pool she was lying next to. It looked familiar but recalling things was harder than usual and she rather just ask then struggle to figure it out.

"A bathhouse," said Evodius.

So they were. She should have gotten that. "How did you find—" She broke off as coughs wracked her. Looked like her lungs were still unhappy from all the smoke. Evodius, understanding what she was trying to ask, leapt in to answer.

"The building had collapsed by the time I got there, but I knew I had to look for you, just in case."

"Sweet of you," she managed to get out.

" _Don't_." He shook his head. "I don't deserve it. I should have been here sooner. I should have known something was wrong when Scipio told me he wouldn't be able make it to the dinner. Why he didn't tell me about Crispinus I don't know, but I don't deserve your gratitude."

Kate would have argued, but didn't have the breath.

He continued. "I found you in the back, unconscious in a rotten fruit cart."

"Rotten fruit cart?"

"Well, vegetables are tossed in there too, but that's what it's called. It where vendors throw all the food that's gone bad before they can sell it, so they don't have to leave bad produce where customers can see it. Once the cart is full, it's hauled out and used for…" He trailed off and pinched his lips together. "Other things."

Was it possible to find a gladiator prissy? She remembered how polite he'd been to her at the party, but she was started to see a real prudishness about him that was absolutely adorable. As for her own opinion about the fruit cart, as far as she was concerned there were worse places she could have landed, especially with Fate out to get her.

"When you wouldn't wake up I decided to take you back to my place," Evodius continued. "But as I was passing the bathhouse—"

" _I_ saw you," a young female voice said. Kate couldn't see who it was from where she was laying, but the uneven gate as the girl came closer gave her away.

"Claudia!"

The girl knelt beside her. Her curly hair was mussed and covered in sprinklings of ash, but otherwise she looked fine. She handed Kate a large cup of wine, which Kate gratefully downed. Fuzzy warmth immediately began to spread through her extremities, dulling the pain. She wondered what else Claudia had put in there besides wine.

"I didn't realize this was the same bathhouse," she said when she had finished the drink. "I'm glad you're all right."

Claudia looked at her in shock. "You've learned Latin!"

Evodius looked surprised too. "Gods, I was so upset I hadn't even realized, but she's right, you are speaking Latin. And so fluently too!"

Kate blushed. "I'm a fast learner," she said. "But that's not important now. Where are your parents, Claudia? They're okay, aren't they?"

"Oh yes," said the girl. "They're out helping right now. I was too until I saw you. When I saw you being carried, I was so scared…" Her lip trembled and she bit down on it.

Kate patted the girl's knee with her good hand. "It's okay. I'm fine."

The words made her remember the not-dream she'd just had of Crispin. He was still out there, terrified for her. How could she have forgotten that? She needed to go.

Kate pushed herself up onto her elbows, noticing for the first time that she was wearing a different outfit and had been scrubbed clean of all smoke residue and chamber pot contents. The little cuts covering her body had been slathered in some kind of herbal cream and her injured hand had been wrapped in linen so thick it looked like a small boxing glove.

"Who did this?" She gestured to the changes.

Claudia pinkened. "I did. E-Evodius was going to, but—" she glanced at the gladiator, who suddenly looked uncomfortable and a bit red himself, "—but it wouldn't have been appropriate, so I insisted. I… I don't have much training at it, so I hope it's okay."

"It's more than okay," Kate assured her. "Thank you very much. To both of you. Now I just need to—" She made to stand.

"Hold on! Where are you going?" Evodius caught her by the shoulder and tried to urge her back down. "You need to lie here and rest."

"I can't. I have to see Crispin."

Evodius' expression turned solemn. He didn't let her go. "Scipio told me what happened in his message. Kate, if you're thinking you can break Crispinus out of there…"

"I'm not." At least, not tonight. She was too muzzy-headed and in too much pain. First thing tomorrow, she would figure out a plan and save him. But tonight— "I just need to see him."

"I heard about the gladiator's coming execution," Claudia whispered gravely. "Word's already spread. It was all anybody would talk about here today. The turn-out tomorrow is supposed to be huge." She turned sad eyes to Kate. "I'm so sorry."

Kate nodded stiffly, but swore to herself that such condolences wouldn't be needed. She would make sure of that.

"Please, Evodius," she said. "I'm going to him whether you help me or not. So please, _help_ _me_ _get_ _to_ _him_."

Evodius looked at her hard, gauging her stubbornness, perhaps. Finally, he relented with a sigh. "If you insist, I'll do what I can. I, too, would like to see him."

" _Thank_ _you_." She made to hug him but he gently held her off, looking embarrassed.

"No need for that."

Five minutes and another cup of wine later they were leaving. The air outside smelled like smoke, and every so often a stray piece of ash would blow by, but the city had quieted down a great deal and all was dark again, with no more flames to burn away the night.

Evodius led her to a small row of buildings just a block away from the coliseum. He stopped the third door from the last and knocked sharply. After a long, _long_ moment where Kate was sure no one was going to answer, the door opened.

"You!"

The guard that had been so rude to her that first day, and that had arrested Crispinus just that afternoon, saw her and cursed. "Shit. What are _you_ doing here?"

"She's with me, Aleron," Evodius said. "We're here to speak with Crispinus."

"Evodius." He scowled. "Does it look like visiting hours to you?"

"It's important that we see him," Evodius said.

" _Imperative_ ," said Kate.

"That's not my problem."

"I know you can get us in," said Evodius.

"Doesn't mean I should."

They were wasting time. Kate fought the urge to fidget, and yell. The coliseum was less than a mile away. She was _so_ _close_ to Crispin, and yet not close enough.

Evodius gave a regretful sigh. "Then I'm calling in your debt."

Aleron stiffened. "I thought you had forgotten about that."

"As if I would forget I had leverage over the head guard of the coliseum," Evodius scoffed, and Kate saw just a bit of the cutthroat gladiator he hid so well behind his nice, gentlemanly exterior. _Whoa_.

Even Aleron looked like he wanted to take a step back.

"Fine," he snapped. "But you leave your weapons here. And if you try anything funny I _will_ kill you, Evodius, don't doubt it."

"We just want to talk to him," Evodius said.

Aleron still looked suspicious, but Evodius handed over his sword and no less than four daggers and up to the coliseum they went. Aleron picked up four other armed guards along the way. Kate knew it was in case Evodius didn't keep his word. They never asked any questions, just followed silently behind them.

* * *

They heard Crispin long before they reached his chamber. He sounded just as awful as Kate had feared. His rage-filled cries echoed up and down the halls.

When they reached his hallway, Kate couldn't stand it anymore and ran ahead. Aleron shouted, "Hey!" but she ignored him and he didn't try to stop her. She skidded to a stop outside Crispin's door just as his fists slammed against it, making the whole thing boom.

"Crispin!" Her yell sent her coughing again. "C-Crispin, it's me, Kate! I'm right here! I'm fine! It's okay!"

" _Kate_?" His poor voice sounded painfully hoarse, almost as bad as hers did.

"I'm right here, Crispin. I'm right here."

Another _thunk_ against the wood, softer this time. "Kate. Thank the gods. I thought for sure—"

"Outta the way." Aleron elbowed her aside and shoved a key into the lock. To Crispin he yelled, "Back up, Agallon, we're coming in!"

He turned the key. The moment the door swung open, Kate shoved past the cranky guard and into the room. She'd barely taken two steps over the threshold when Crispin was there, snatching her up in an embrace that would have hurt even if she hadn't been injured. It was the first time he'd been less than careful with her, and spoke louder than his bellows ever could how shaken he was.

Kate felt herself trembling as she hugged him back. She'd almost been forced to leave him. _Twice_. First by Fate and then the fire. She'd known it would break her if she could never see Crispin again, but this was the first time realizing the extent it would break _him_ to never see her again either. It was unallowable.

His grip loosened by slow degrees, until eventually there was enough distance for him to take her in, though he never completely let her go. His beautiful blue eyes darkened as he took note of every cut and bruise, the wrap around her hand that, despite Claudia's special wine, still throbbed with pain.

"He got to you." Crispin growled the words. "That bastard will die if I have to come back from the Underworld to do it."

_He?_ Kate shook her head. "It was a fire, Crispin. I escaped, but Scipio's building was lost."

"And where was Scipio while you were escaping from a burning building? He was supposed to be watching you." If possible, Crispin sounded even angrier. Kate didn't think she'd ever seen him this mad before. It was more than a little intimidating, even if it wasn't aimed at her.

"I… well, I don't know. He said he was going to go find someone to help you but he never came back. It's not his fault though! He couldn't have known—"

"The fault lies with me," said Evodius. Kate started. She had forgotten him, _and_ Aleron for that matter. Both had followed her inside and now stood in front of the door, which had closed behind them. The four other guards were presumably still waiting in the hallway.

"Scipio sent word to me that I was to come watch Kate," said Evodius. "But I was late in arriving and the fire had long since burned out. I found Kate and saw her tended to, but responsibility for her injuries lies with me."

"That's not true!" said Kate, horrified and angry he would blame himself, and to Crispin, who clearly wanted retribution from somebody. "The messenger was late getting to him. He couldn't have known. Crispin, you can't blame him for this, or Scipio. The fire was just bad luck. Both tried so hard—"

"Stop." Crispin's voice was soft, but Kate fell silent immediately. His hard gaze warmed at the sight of her worry. "It's all right, Kate. I understand."

Relief made her light-headed, or maybe that was the second cup of wine finally hitting her.

"But the fire was more than bad luck. It was purposely done."

Evodius sucked in a breath. "By who?"

"Cato. On Valencia's orders."

Aleron began to curse. "How do you know that?"

Crispinus mouth flattened into a grim line. "Because she was here earlier and told me."

So _that's_ why he'd been in such distress. Kate had wondered how he had known to fear for her. That crazy _bitch_. God how Kate hated that woman!

"I need to ask a favor of you, Evodius," Crispin said.

"Name it."

"I need you to find and kill Cato for me."

Evodius didn't so much as hesitate. "Done. I'll go immediately."

"I think I will accompany you," said Aleron. "I know the rat well enough. I should be able to help you find him. I have my own share of things to settle with him anyway."

Evodius nodded.

Kate didn't have to ask why Crispin wasn't planning on going after Cato himself. He didn't believe he would live to do it. They were going to have to talk about that, along with a lot of other things.

Crispin let go of Kate just enough to clasp Evodius' hand. "Goodbye, my friend."

"See you in Elysium."

"Or Tartarus."

It was a horrible joke, but Evodius smiled and nodded in agreement.

Aleron looked pointedly at Kate.

"I'm staying," she said before he could even dare ask, and pressed closer to Crispin to emphasize her point.

Crispin's hands came up to grasp her arms, and for a second she thought he was going to send her away, in order to spare her or some other such noble garbage. But then selfishness won out and he wrapped her up tight in his arms, pulling her against him.

"You heard her," he said. "She stays."

Aleron gave a mocking bow and left, Evodius behind him. For a few minutes after the door was shut and locked they continued to stand there like that, silently united against those that would part them. Kate closed her eyes and savored the feeling, never having experienced such a thing before. It was nice. It made her feel twice as strong, twice as brave.

Crispin rested his chin on top of her head and sighed gustily. "I must ask for your forgiveness, Kate."

Kate gave her own sigh and turned within his arms so that she was facing him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, careful not to bump her injured hand. "For what? You're not going to blame yourself for the fire too, are you?"

She kept her tone light, and she saw the corners of his lips tip upwards as he tried to share in her humor, but no matter how he smiled his eyes stayed sad. "If I had not angered Cato and Valencia they would not have gone after you, so yes, I do blame myself for that, and I should ask you to forgive me for that also, but no, that was not what I was referring to."

"Then what other crime have you done to me that's so horrible?" she teased.

His expression turned pained. He dropped his gaze. "I vowed never to leave you. Now I must break it."

Kate's forced levity vanished.

Crispin reached into a waist pocket of his tunica and pulled out something small and red. He held it out to her. She took it, turning the small item over in her hand. It was one of the teardrop-shaped earrings that had been in the jewelry case with the necklace.

In a regretful voice, Crispin said, "It's the last of what you gave to me. I know it's not near enough, but it's yours and should get you enough money to get out of the Empire, maybe even back to that wondrous homeland of yours if the fates treat you kindly."

Kate kept very still, as if something great and dangerous were out there and would get her if she didn't proceed carefully.

"You're telling me to give up on you?"

"Kate—" Crispin gestured helplessly. "By tomorrow afternoon there will be nothing left to give up. I'll be… gone, and you'll need somewhere to go. Evodius and Scipio will watch over you gladly, I'm sure," and here his voice grew rough with dark jealousy, "but wouldn't you rather go home? You'll be happier there. And safer."

_Go_ _home_ , he was telling her. _Move_ _on_ _with_ _your_ _life_. But Crispin didn't realize: _he_ was her home now, and she could no more move on from him then a bird could fly without wings. She _needed_ him.

And it was time he knew it.

Carefully, she reached up, Crispin watching her with a sweetly confused expression on his face. She pinned the small piece of jewelry to his tunica, directly over his heart, and then covered it with her hand.

"Keep it," she told him. "I don't need it."

Now he was starting to look concerned. "What are you saying? Of course you need it—"

" _I_ _don't_ _need_ _it_ ," she repeated, speaking over him, "because I'm not leaving you. I love you, Crispinus Agallon. It took me way too long to realize it, but now that I have, I am not letting you go. And I'm not letting you break your vow to me. Tomorrow I'm going to save you. I don't know how yet, but I am. That's _my_ vow to _you_." She patted the sparkling ruby on his chest. "So you just hold onto this for me, okay? Keep it safe. And if you really want to give it back to me…" She trailed off, suddenly uncertain and feeling like she wasn't talking about the earring anymore. "Then I guess you can return it once we've got tomorrow's mess settled and you out of here, alive and well. Then, and only then, will I agree to… take it back."

Silence. Kate didn't think he was even breathing. The muscle under her hand felt like warm stone and her self-confidence took a nosedive. Had she misread the depth of his feelings for her? Maybe he considered her confession an unwanted burden, considering the situation they were in?

"Kate." His voice gave away nothing. She couldn't bear to look at him, in case the next words out of his mouth were a rejection.

"Yeah?"

Big hands rough with calluses cradled her face, forcing her to look up. Kate shut her eyes, too cowardly to keep them open and see what emotions were revealed in his too-knowing gaze.

"Kate."

When she opened her mouth to again say, "Yes?" he sealed his lips over hers. The kiss was tender yet passionate, demanding a response, and it took Kate only a moment to realize what it meant before she was throwing herself into it just as fiercely.

Teeth clicked as each fought to devour more of the other, tongues thrusting deep as they fought for dominance. Crispin let go of her face and reached around instead to cup her bottom, lifting her against his already sizable erection, and Kate felt her body's immediate and enthusiastic reaction.

He tore his lips from hers long enough to tell her, "I'm not giving it back."

"Good," she said, gasping for breath, "because I wasn't going to take it back."

He growled and nipped at her jaw before running his lips down to suck at her pulse point. "I love you, Kate. _Gods_ , I love you so much."

She tried to respond, but at that moment he thrust against her in a way that melted her words into a needy moan. Her head fell back and all she could do was hold on and fight like hell not to combust too soon.

Crispin seemed to have other ideas. In three quick tugs he had her clothes falling off her body. One of his hands came up to tease a nipple while the other slipped between her legs, finding that perfect spot and assaulting it before she'd even realized he'd made the move.

She flew apart too fast to even utter a sound of surprise. When it had passed, Crispin lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, treating them to a delicious grind that had both of them gasping. He carried her across the room and lowered her down onto a small, scratchy mattress. She didn't care. It could have been a rotten fruit cart or a bed of silk and she would have been just as happy. He shucked his own clothes then came down on top of her, where she welcomed him with open arms.

"I need to be inside you," he said, his voice a disjointed rasp. "I promise I won't— Just let me—"

"Yes," she said, her body still humming from leftover pleasure. "Whatever you want, yes."

He entered her slowly, and though she writhed beneath him, desperate for more, he pinned her down with his body and kept it slow. Kate had never experienced such breathtaking torture.

Once Crispin was fully sheathed inside her, he paused for a moment to let her adjust, but there was no need; they fit together seamlessly. Kate's heart filled with the wonder of it. Sweat trickled from Crispin's temple and over the hard curves of muscle on his chest. A drop hung suspended from one, flat nipple and she lifted her head to lick it up, letting a satisfied smile curl her lips when he growled.

When he finally began to move, Kate joined in eagerly. To neither of their surprise, their paces matched up perfectly. Crispin's breath came in hot pants against her neck where he ducked down to place kisses and sometimes little nips that made Kate squeal and her inner muscles clench, pulling him in deeper, faster. Her second orgasm came even harder than the first, and she let out a shriek as her whole body arched, waves of pleasure blinding her to everything but the feel of Crispin moving inside of her. He didn't stop until the last shudder had passed through her body and left her utterly spent.

Kate collapsed back on the mattress, blissfully content until she realized that Crispin was still hard inside of her, his jaw clenched as he fought his own urge to come.

"Crispin," she said, caressing his face, his shoulders, his back, "let go."

"Can't," he replied through gritted teeth. "Promised. Just needed to be inside you. Just once." And to her shock, he started to pull out.

Quick-quick, Kate wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him to her. "No," she said. "I want you to. It's okay."

But Crispin shook his head. "Can't risk… leaving you alone _and_ with a baby. Wouldn't be right—"

His words filled Kate's already full heart to bursting. How could she have ever thought him like her father? The man didn't nothing but think of her happiness and safety, even to the detriment of his own.

"Didn't I already tell you?" she said, burying her hand into his damp curls so she could tug his head down for a gentle kiss. "I'm going to save you. So even if I do get pregnant, it's fine cause you'll be there."

Crispin looked truly desperate now. His arms trembled where he continued to hold himself above her. His hips bucked, once, twice, without his permission before he managed to stop himself. "But you said… you weren't ready…"

"I'm ready now," she whispered, and she purposely tightened around him in a way she knew would undo him. "Aren't you?"

" _Yes_ ," he gasped, and with that his orgasm hit him and he released into her.

Kate gave a purely feminine hum of satisfaction as he finished and collapsed, rolling sideways so he could keep her in his arms without squishing her.

"Love you," she whispered, because she just had to say it again.

Crispin made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded as close to a purr as a seasoned warrior could make. Burying his face into her hair he said, "No matter where I go, I'm yours. Always remember that."

He still thought he was dying tomorrow. He didn't believe she could save him. Kate held him close. She wasn't hurt because she knew it wasn't _her_ he doubted. The situation did seem very hopeless. If their positions had been flipped, Kate didn't think she would have believed he could save her either, no matter how much he swore to.

The only thing that kept Kate determinedly optimistic was, ironically enough, Fate. If Lachesis hadn't shown up in her dream so upset about her staying, Kate wouldn't have known that somehow, she _did_ have the ability to keep Crispin alive, it was just a matter of figuring out how. And that, knowing she had a chance, was all Kate needed to know she could do it.

Already, Crispin's breathing was growing deep and even, though his grip on her didn't loosen. They still had so much they needed to discuss: Plans for tomorrow, what Scipio might be up to and the truth about where she came from and how she'd gotten here. But exhaustion was an obstinate beast that wouldn't be ignored any longer. In the morning they would have time. Maybe. Probably. At least enough for her to convince Crispin to fight with all his might, regardless if it seemed futile. She needed him to keep fighting for them, because this wasn't a battle either of them could win alone.


	22. Chapter Twenty One

There were no windows in his chamber, and yet lying in the darkness with Kate cuddled against him, Crispinus could feel his last dawn drawing inexorably nearer, Eos beginning her walk to the gate of sunrise where she would release her brother, Helios, who would slice through the sky on his chariot like a blade and bring forth the day.

What Crispinus wouldn't give to have her walk more slowly, to convince the titan goddess of dawn to return to her home in _oceanus_ for another day… to have her never rise at all.

He hadn't slept much. Though he had drifted off after finally making love to Kate, it hadn't taken long for all the stress and heartache to bring him back to consciousness. His mind knew, even if his tired body didn't, that everything would be over soon, and it refused to rest.

He ran his hand over Kate's hip and up her back, enjoying the soft dips and curves of her body, the warmth of her skin. He'd been watching her sleep for awhile now and couldn't stop touching her, kissing her, running his hands through her hair and nuzzling that soft dip at the base of her throat.

Had her wrists always been so dainty? Her throat so slender and delicate? She had the smallest spattering of sun spots on her legs, a place he'd never seen them before on a woman. On their faces, yes. Across their noses and sometimes on their arms—always to their aggravation—but never on their legs. What had she been wearing outside, he wondered, that would allow sun spots to appear in such an intimate place?

He thought about the clothes she'd been wearing the first time he'd seen her. Yes, that outfit would have done the trick. Did that mean she dressed like that all the time, back where she came from? The question was oddly provocative until he thought about how many men that would make witnesses to such beauty.

It made him unaccountably angry. Like Hades he'd let her walk around like that! She was _his_ and he'd blind any whoreson who thought to steal peeks at anything more than her face.

Kate whimpered in her sleep and he realized he had unconsciously been squeezing her too tight. He relaxed his grip with a regretful sigh. After tomorrow, it wouldn't matter what she wore or who saw her dressed up in it. By noon, he would be dead and Kate free to walk around in whatever she liked.

The thought gutted him too many ways to count.

He traced the shiny pink scar just under her collarbone, pride and love welling up in him as it always did when he saw the mark and remembered. She had saved him then. She was determined to save him now. Crispinus didn't have the heart to explain to her how impossible it was. The Colosseum was a fortress. Hundreds of armed guards, most as skilled as the gladiators. Hidden gates that could be lowered in a matter seconds to block anyone trying to escape. And once you were in the arena… trapdoors, wild animals, more gates and guards stationed at every exit. Nowhere to run or hide. You didn't come out unless the crowd wanted you to, and it was rare that they wanted to see a man walk away when they could watch him be disemboweled instead.

But he wasn't going to tell Kate any of that. He would not be the one to crush her hope. It was a beautiful thing. He'd much rather his last sight of her be marching off on a quest to rescue him than standing there heartbroken and hopeless as he was led to his death. He could only pray, when cold reality caught up to her, that she would be strong enough to face it as bravely as she'd faced everything else.

His brave, beautiful Kate. How he would miss her.

He ran a thumb over one velvety-soft nipple, watching as it slowly puckered from his ministrations, then he did the same to the other one. Kate squirmed just the tiniest bit, her back arching to press herself closer to him before settling down again. She had finally accepted him, heart and soul, and he had only this night to bask in it. It made Crispinus want to bawl like a babe at the unfairness of it, then go out and kill every last person responsible. But he wasn't in a position to manage the latter and the former was a waste of the few precious hours he had left. There were other, better things to spend his time doing.

He lowered his head and took a nipple into his mouth, gently suckling while he slid a hand between Kate's thighs, his blood heating and making him groan to find her dewy for him.

When he'd teased her to the point of arousal that her body began to writhe and her eyelids began to flutter, her approaching orgasm insisting that she rise from her sleep to greet it, he entered her, stunned anew at how perfectly they fit together. Kate gasped, managing to do little more than cling to him before she was shattering in his arms.

Crispinus let the sensation take him over, bringing his mouth down hard on hers as he thrust himself inside her as deep as he could go and spilled his seed. It was selfish of him, knowing he had just increased her chances of pregnancy. He should have pulled out, should never have entered her in the first place. But he'd needed her too much, and there was a small, utterly primal part of him that would secretly be pleased if he managed to leave her with his child, evidence of their union and a connection to her heart that could live on in place of him.

He rolled onto his back with Kate sprawled on top of him, boneless and sated. She was already drifting back to sleep but whispered his name and kissed him, making another one of those quiet, humming noises he was already starting to associate as her sexually satisfied sound. Crispinus loved it, the feminineness of it and the way it vibrated against his lips and tongue, and he grew hard again thinking what it would feel like on another part of his body. There were so many things he would never get to do with her, both inside the bedroom and out. The knowledge made it hard to stop himself from shaking her awake and taking her again, in as many ways as he could. No matter if it was their last night, she needed rest badly. He could only imagine what she had gone through in that fire, not to mention all the emotional stress he knew she was in.

He lifted her bandaged hand and examined it in the dim light. Out of all her injuries tonight, this one worried him the most. Only the tips of her fingers were visible, but they were slightly swollen and purpling. Bruising, or something worse? There was no way to know, and he could do nothing for her even if there was. Why was it, that when it came to Kate, he always felt so helpless?

A few hours later when he knew they would be coming for him soon he coaxed her awake with increasingly deep kisses, until she was not only responding but dominating the exchange. It was with great reluctance that he tore himself away and told her they needed to get dressed. They did so silently. The chamber was small but they still stuck close as they gathered their things. Kate noticed for the first time the bowl of now dried bone ash on the table and wrinkled her nose at it.

"What is that?" she said.

Crispinus wasn't about to tell her. He wondered for the first time what they would do with his own body. Would he be ground up to feed his fellows as well? Normally with his fame he would at least be buried with a small gravestone, but he was here to be executed as a prisoner, not a gladiator, so he wasn't sure. He just hoped Kate didn't have to see, whatever they decided to do with him.

He took her hand and led her away from the table and back towards the mattress. Angling so that he could sit with his back supported by the wall. When he tugged Kate down into his lap she came with a contented sigh. He buried a hand in her tangled hair and she tucked her head under his chin.

"How is your hand feeling?" he asked after a few moments of comfortable, if weighted, silence.

Kate held it up. "It hurts," she said, matter-of-factly. "A lot. I think I broke at least one of my fingers. Maybe a knuckle. Don't supposed you've got an orthopedist around here, do you?"

"I am not sure what that is, but I do not believe so."

"Yeah, I figured that." She tucked the bandaged appendage carefully in her lap. "Before… things start happening today, I need to tell you something," she said. "About where I'm from."

"I would like to hear anything you have to tell me about it," Crispinus said, but by her tone he wasn't sure he should be.

"I know you probably won't believe me, or you'll think I'm nuts, but I know I can't go my whole life fencing your questions, so I've decided to just tell you and deal with whatever problems it makes between us later, after we get through this."

So her optimism hadn't waned overnight. He had wondered if it would. "I will believe you, whatever it is," he told her.

He couldn't say for sure with her face lowered, but he could have sworn she rolled her eyes at that. "Last time just telling you I came from a more advanced society made you snippy."

"It did not," he said. He'd never heard the word "snippy" before but he could guess it what it meant. "It's simply that the Roman Empire is the most advanced civilization out there. Your people may have an impressive apparatus or two that we have yet to invent, but anything beyond that is..."

"Oh, we have more than one or two impressive apparatuses, believe me," Kate muttered.

"Such as?"

"I don't have time to list them all, and most would be so far out of context I doubt they'd make sense to you anyway." She blew out a breath. "Let's try this a different way: You believe in the gods, right? That they're powerful? Can do great things? Well, my people are sort of like that, only nowhere near as great and twice as fallible."

"Are you saying you're a demigod?"

Kate started. "Would you believe me if I said I was?"

" _That_ I could easily believe," Crispinus said with all honesty. "You are quite extraordinary and certainly have more courage, beauty and wit than anyone I've ever met. If you told me you were part immortal it would make nothing but sense."

Kate turned to stare up at him. "I think that's one of the sweetest things anyone's ever said to me."

He took advantage of her upturned face to steal a kiss, then dragged his lips away before it went too far. He angled his head to nip at her earlobe, asking in a tone that was only half-teasing, "So which beautiful goddess do you come from then? Nike? Themis? No, Hecate."

"None of them," Kate admitted, her voice breathy. "But one of them did send me to you."

"In truth?"

She nodded. Crispinus almost laughed. Hadn't Scipio insisted on as much? "Than I am forever in their debt."

"They took me from the future."

She slipped the statement in so smoothly that for a minute the ridiculousness of it failed to penetrate. The future. Of course. Why hadn't he realized it sooner? Silly of him, to not have known.

But then Crispinus realized what she'd just said and stilled. Kate felt it and went tense in his arms.

Slowly, he pulled back to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, a goddess took me from the future… and brought me here, to the past."

"You're from the future?"

She nodded, never taking her gaze from his. "I am."

If she had been any other woman, he would have thought she was taking him for a fool. But this was Kate, and he knew better than that. He found himself thinking of her jewelry and the fascinating chest it had come in. He thought of her clothes, and those intriguing sun spots on her legs. The way she hadn't known Latin, and used words like _orthopedist_ and _snippy_.

Quietly he asked, "How far in the future?"

It was the right question. Much of the tension drained out of Kate's shoulders. With small smile and wary eyes she said, "Very."

"And a goddess brought you?"

"Yes."

"Which one?"

Kate hesitated. "Aphrodite."

Aphrodite. The Goddess of Love. Crispinus didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"That was who I was looking for, to send me back," she said.

Send her back. To the future. That's where her homeland was. Some marvelous age far beyond his own that exceeded Rome in every possible way. It was insanity and yet the minute he thought it he knew she was telling him the truth. Her home was in the future. She came from the future. Of course it was. Of course she did. Such a wondrous creature could come from nowhere else. There was not a shred of doubt in his heart. Kate was from the future, and he was—

"Gods, Kate," he said with dawning horror, "how am I going to get you back there?"

She frowned. "What do you mean, get me back there? I'm staying here with you. I told you that last night."

But Crispinus only shook his head. Oh Zeus, things were so much worse than he'd thought. In a few hours he would be dead and she would not only be alone in a strange city, but in a time not her own. And he had—Crispinus swallowed hard, panic and bile rising up his throat—even now his child might be beginning to bud inside of her. He'd been a fool. Such a fool!

"Crispin, it's okay," Kate said, patting his hair, his cheeks, his shoulders. "Everything will be all right. We'll figure this out and then—"

He shook his head hard, feeling denial and terror crashing over him. "No!"

"Really! I'm going to save you, and then we can—"

" _This_ _isn_ _'_ _t_ _time_ _for_ _your_ _foolish_ _idealism,_ _Kate!_ " he roared, lunging to his feet and forcing her up with him. His only peace had been in knowing she would at least have a chance of making it back home. Now her future was growing as dark as his.

"You have to go," he told her. "Find a temple and pray with everything inside of you for Aphrodite to send you back. Sacrifice whatever you need to. A goat should be good—"

"Crispin—"

"—but a bull would be better. Wear a head covering. It shows modesty and respect. If that doesn't work, I want you to go to my brother. Tell him what has happened, but not about where you come from. If it turns out you are pregnant—"

" _Crispin_ —"

"You'll have to find someone to marry. I do not know how lenient your people are about that, but here it will ruin you and could endanger your life. Not to mention our child will be little better than a freedman—"

"I'm not going to just marry—"

" _Don_ _'_ _t_ _argue_ _with_ _me,_ _Kate!_ "

She flinched but he was too upset to feel guilty about it. He dropped to his knees so that he was closer to her eyelevel and took her by the arms, giving her a hard shake. Her eyes were wide as she stared down at him.

" _Please_ , Kate. Please, you must swear to me that you'll do as I say." As much as it killed him to think of her with another man, possibly someone he knew, since he couldn't imagine one of his friends _not_ stepping up for her, the thought of his sweet Kate and their child living alone, unprotected, was so much worse.

"Don't make me go to the Underworld not knowing what will become of you," he said. "I couldn't bear that. Promise me you'll try you damndest to get home, and if that doesn't work…" He couldn't bear to repeat the second part of what he had said, but she knew without him saying it.

Crispinus clutched at her waist and pressed his face into the swell of her stomach, remembering the first time he had done it. How peaceful and right it had felt, and if he'd been afraid, it had only been for himself, his heart. He had so much more to fear now. Too much.

Silently, Kate wrapped her arms around his head, cradling him to her. "Okay," she said finally, and he could hear the slight tremor in her voice. "Okay," she said again. "I'll do what you said. I'll do all of it. Goat, bull, m-marriage, I'll do it."

_Thank_ _the_ _gods_. "Thank you."

"But only _after_ I do everything in my power to save you first," she said, and her voice came out stronger this time. When he pulled away, ready to argue, she told him, "That's the deal, gladiator. Take or leave it."

Before he could answer, the door behind them banged open and no less than five armed guards entered. Crispinus didn't recognize any of them. He got to his feet and pushed Kate behind him.

"Agallon," the guard closest to him said. "You're to be taken to the main cell now. Let's go."

Crispinus nodded, but found he had trouble actually complying. He needed to turn around and tell Kate goodbye. He needed to make her swear again that when whatever attempt she made at helping him failed, she would keep her promise and do what he said. But he found himself unable to look at her knowing it would be the last time. Gods, he might have been a famous gladiator but he was not strong enough to say goodbye to the woman he loved.

Kate seemed to understand. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and he felt the heat of her lips through his tunica as she kissed his back, right between his shoulder blades. "I love you," she whispered. "Fight hard. I _will_ see you again."

He covered her hands briefly with his own, lingering on the one he knew, though she was being tough about it, had to be a small agony to her.

"I love you too," he said. "Now and forever."

And then he let her go and she let him leave, and the guards led him out into the hall, three in front and two behind, all with their swords drawn in case he tried to make a last minute escape.

Kate rushed out into the hall behind them. Just as they were turning the corner she yelled after him, "Fight with all you've got! Remember, you're Rome's greatest gladiator! If I find you've been taken down by a measly pickpocket before I get back, I will go to the Underworld and beat you up myself! _Do_ _you_ _hear_ _me,_ _gladiator?_ "

He heard. And even though it brought tears in his eyes, it also made him smile.

* * *

Kate watched him go, doing her best to push away all the little doubts that were doing their damndest to grab ahold of her heart. Crispin's words had rattled her more than she wanted to admit. She'd been trying so hard to stay positive, stay positive, but when faced with over two hundred pounds of pure, panicking gladiator it was hard not to falter and question yourself.

She still had no idea, even now, what to do. Crispin had two hours, tops, before it would be his turn in the arena, and no matter how hard he fought, there was no way to guess how long he'd last. She not only needed a plan immediately, but one that could be implemented within the hour.

If only there was someone around who she could bounce ideas off of. Someone who knew the city, the laws, and the society. Someone who could at least point her in the right direction, if not the exact place to go.

She reviewed the list of people she knew, which was pathetically short. There was Evodius, but he was still off with that guard finding Cato. There was Scipio, but he was MIA and she couldn't wait around hoping he would show up in time with whatever help he'd gone to collect. Even if he made it back, she now seriously doubted whatever help he brought would be, well, helpful. Lachesis hadn't been afraid of what _he_ would do after all.

There was Claudia, but she was still a child and even if Kate were comfortable drawing her in to her very adult problems—which she wasn't—the odds that she would come up with anything Kate could use was doubtful. There was Hardalio, but the consul was too blindingly loyal to the law for Kate to trust asking him for ways to get around it. That would be the quickest game over in history.

Who she really needed was Drusus and Annia. They both loved Crispin and would do anything for him. Plus, they were born and raised as Roman citizens. If anyone could think of a way out of this, they could.

Kate shook her head and started down the hallway towards the stars. It was stupid wishing for them. They were two days away and Annia was in no fit state to travel. She might have done it all the time when she'd been a _vestalis_ , but her husband would lock her up and throw away the key if she tried it now, with a bellyful of baby.

_Vestales_. Kate chewed on the thought as she started up the narrow stairs. There had been something about them… hadn't there? Something that Annia had said they could do in regards to condemned men… Kate remembered discussing it with her. Crap, _what_ _was_ _it_?

The memory hit her on the fifth stair. Kate stumbled and almost went down as the pregnant woman's words came rushing back to her, fast as floodwaters:

" _We_ _can_ _also_ _free_ _prisoners_ _and_ _slaves_ _with_ _a_ _touch._ _If_ _a_ _man_ _sees_ _a_ vestalis _on_ _his_ _way_ _to_ _execution,_ _he_ _will_ _be_ _pardoned_ _immediately._ _"_

" _What_ _if_ _he_ _'_ _s_ _guilty?_ _"_

" _It's considered fate that he's meant to be free."_

Kate's heart started to pound. Could it really be that simple? It was such a gaping loophole, it almost felt like a trick. But even if it was, she couldn't afford not to try. If she could find a _vestalis_ , bring her to the coliseum, they would have to let Crispin go. To the Roman people, it was more than a mere law, it was the rule of their very _faith_. Not even the Emperor would dare go against it.

_And_ _they_ _live_ _in_ _the_ _city!_ Kate thought, excitement spurring her back into motion. Crispin had pointed the building out to her just the other day. If she could find it, get just one _vestalis_ to come back with her—

Kate flew up the stairs and out into a clear blue dawn. It would work. It had to. Fate had all but guaranteed it.

* * *

"Are you sure he'll be here?" asked Evodius, looking at the dilapidated building with misgiving.

"No, I'm not _sure_ ," Aleron snapped. "If I was _sure_ , don't you think I would have come here first instead of the six other places we've been to?"

"No need to get angry about it. I was merely asking."

"I'm tired!" said Aleron, "And being around you for so long is giving me tics."

"Uncomfortable speaking to the man who saved your life?" Evodius said, blunt.

"You hardly saved it. At most you spared me from a few hours of stomach pain."

"Stomach pain. Yes, poison will certainly give you that."

Aleron hissed at him. "I am not speaking about this here." He gestured to the small _enoteca_ they were standing outside of. Even though it was morning and they were at a wine house—albeit not the classiest one—the characters that loitered around the entrance looked shady and unwelcoming.

"I didn't have to say anything, you know," Evodius went on, undaunted by the guard's impressive scowl. "You would never have noticed the slightly off-color of your stew. One sip and—"

"I said I owed you a debt, didn't I?" said Aleron, "And as I recall, I repaid it last night."

"But to your full abilities? I think not."

"What was I supposed to do, arrange a break out? I'm not about to put my own neck at risk just to help you, Evodius, debt or no."

"That _is_ how the usual 'life for a life' debt works."

"I _said_ , you didn't save my—"

The door to the _enoteca_ opened and an extremely hungover Cato stepped out. He saw the two men bickering in front of him and they saw him, and for a moment they all just stood there, staring at each other.

Then Cato whirled and tried to run back inside. Aleron cursed and grabbed for him but Cato struck out with one luckily-placed fist to the gut and the guard doubled over, wheezing. Evodius leapt around the fallen guard and caught the gladiator master's wrist, wrapping an arm around his neck and hauling him around the side of the building for some privacy. Aleron followed, still working to get oxygen back into his lungs.

"That's better," said Evodius pleasantly when they were safely out of sight from any passersby. "No sense in bloodying the front steps of such a… colorful establishment. The gods know it doesn't need a worse reputation than it probably already has." He shoved Cato away from him and into the wall, enjoying that satisfying _thunk_ as the man's head hit brick.

Cato moaned and dropped to his knees, dry heaving, but nothing came up but some foamy spit.

"Disgusting," said Aleron as he unsheathed his sword. "Next he'll be wetting himself and crying for his mother."

"Do you know who I am?" Evodius asked Cato.

Cato wiped at his mouth and glared up at him with bloodshot eyes. "Think I would remember meeting an ugly, one-eyed man like you before." He flicked a glance at Aleron. "So you've hired someone to kill me then? Can't say it's surprising, though I would've thought you'd at least have enough balls to do it yourself."

"On the contrary, I would very much like to kill you myself," said Aleron with a nasty smile. "And I will if Evodius doesn't hurry up with it."

"I am here on behalf of a friend of mine," said Evodius. "Perhaps you know him."

"I'm not playing no fucking guessing games with you," growled Cato, using the wall to help pull himself to his feet. "Tell me or don't, I don't give a damn either way—"

"Crispinus Agallon." Evodius spoke the name clearly. It echoed off the walls. Cato looked incensed.

"Bastard's still trying to screw me, even locked up. Fine, that's—"

"Also, Katelyn Gray," Evodius went on. "Plus another friend of mine, Scipio. I believe you burnt down his home last night, along with everyone else who lived in that building. So far there have been five confirmed dead and over twelve still missing. You are a murderer, gladiator master."

Cato sneered at him. "We're all murderers. Don't talk to me as if your hands are so lily white. Got that little eye injury there from caring for children, did you?"

"We're not here to discuss morality with you," said Aleron. "We're here to kill you. Get _on_ with it, Evodius."

Evodius drew his sword. Fear flickered in Cato's eyes.

"You're killing the wrong person," he said. "It's that bitch Valencia you should be after. She's the one who told me what to say to get Agallon arrested. She tricked me! I'm not the one who wanted the gladiator dead, _she_ was."

"And the fire?"

"All her!"

Aleron snorted. "You're covered in ash, gladiator master. And is that a burn I see on your arm there?"

Cato clamped his hand over the blistered swath of flesh. "I might have started it, but she's the one who filled my head with such…" he mimed spastically. "She has a cursed tongue. Can convince a man of anything."

Aleron snorted.

"It's true! I knew as soon as I set the fire that I shouldn't have, but of course it was too late. It's _her_ you need to kill. I've learned my lesson."

"And what of your attempts on my life?" said Aleron. "I supposed she talked you into that as well?"

True hate blazed in Cato's eyes. "You were an insufferable bastard and you still are! No one had to talk me into poisoning you. I'm only disappointed it never worked. One drop and you would have been dead, dammit."

"I told you," said Evodius.

Aleron said, "Well you are just as insufferable and I'm ending it! Out of my way, Evodius."

Evodius stepped politely aside and Aleron raised his sword and lunged. Cato snarled and pulled a dagger from his boot. He hurled it just as Aleron brought his sword down.

Both weapons cut into flesh. Cato let out a gurgling howl as his neck was severed and he collapsed. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Aleron dropped his sword as he slumped against the wall, clutching at his leg where the dagger was still embedded. "Son of a bitch," he gasped.

"I believe the gladiator master must still have been fairly drunk to have such poor aim," Evodius said conversationally, stepping closer to look the guard over. "You should be dead right now, you know. You never run at an armed man straight like that. That's what happens when you let your emotions get away from you. You make stupid mistakes and—"

"Shut _up_ with the lecture and get this thing out of me," Aleron snapped.

"Of course." He pulled out the dagger and bound the wound, the guard grumbling all the while.

"Are you going back to the coliseum?" Aleron asked as Evodius helped him to his feet.

Evodius thought about it. "As much as the thought of watching my friend die pains me, I will. Kate will need guidance afterwards. And with Scipio missing that falls to me."

The guard smirked. "Guidance, huh? Is what you're calling it?"

"Don't be crude," said Evodius as they started down the street. He glanced back at Cato's now cooling body, wishing Crispinus had been free to do the deed himself. But it was done. He could take peace in that, at least.

"Even if I was interested in her in that way," he said, continuing on. "She belongs to Crispinus."

"Won't for long."

"I do not think his death will matter. Did you not see the way they were last night?"

"Yeah, I saw," said Aleron gruffly.

Something in his tone made Evodius glance at him. "Jealous?"

Aleron glared. "Don't be stupid."

Evodius shrugged. "I freely admit to a little jealousy myself."

"Well you've always been an idiot."

Evodius only smiled. "Should I drop you off somewhere to have your wound treated better? I'm sure a few stitches wouldn't be amiss."

"I don't know anyone," Aleron muttered.

"Ah! I just happen to know the perfect person. She's a bit young but her skills for an amateur are exceptional."

"As long as it doesn't put me in your debt again I don't care."

"Of course not," said Evodius, his smile growing into a full-out grin. "You'll be in hers."

Scipio was lost.

Not literally. He knew very well where he was. He was five blocks form his home—well, what _used_ to be his home. The building was gone now. Destroyed. Nothing but ashes and some blackened beams. The fire had consumed everything.

He didn't know what had happened to Kate. She wasn't at Evodius'. He old friend hadn't been home either. He had no idea where they were, if they were still alive. Had the fire gotten them both? He wasn't sure if he could live with himself if they had died. If he hadn't told Evodius to come... If he hadn't left Kate alone… And what would he tell Crispinus?

Not that his friend would be alive for much longer to tell. Aphrodite still hadn't come back. Scipio kicked at a pebble and sent it skipping across the hot, dry ground. Where was she? They were running out of time. _Crispinus_ was running out of time.

"Scipio."

He turned around and there she was, wearing a blue wool cloak to disguise herself. No one else in the crowded street took notice of her, but to Scipio she still blazed with the power and beauty of the goddess she was.

"Aphrodite..." He went to her, but hesitated pulling her into his arms like he wanted to. She had more than covered herself up, she had withdrawn from him emotionally, hidden everything behind a too-pale face he couldn't read.

"What's the matter, my love?"

Tears filled her eyes, and even they sparkled with beauty. It made it hurt to look at her.

In a broken voice she whispered, "I have something I need to tell you."


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

Crispinus was deposited with the other men in a long, narrow chamber that served as both hallway entrance and antechamber to the arena. He was towards the back of the room, but over the crush of dirty bodies he could make out the top of the gate that separated them from to the sandy expanse of stage where he would put on one last show before facing his death.

Already the spectators had gathered. He could hear the deep thunder of all their voices, could feel their expectation and excitement to see his blood spilled, along with the men he now stood with.

An announcer stepped out and the voices hushed. The order of the condemned's appearances was read aloud. Crispinus listened for his name and gave silent thanks to Aleron when he heard he was to be number eleven. Fourth from the last. He knew it had to have been hard for the guard to get him even that far down the list and he appreciated it even if the crowd didn't. They booed and hissed. A few threw things. They wanted him first. They wanted to see a slaughter.

Crispinus had a long moment to fear the crowd's dissatisfaction would make the emperor change it—he knew the man was here today—but then the announcer finished and went on to talk about other things, and Crispinus breathed easier as he realized his place would hold. Now he would only have to kill three to make it to the end, and then… then he would then be killed by what the announcer had just called the most wild and dangerous lioness ever to be brought to the coliseum.

_Please,_ _Kate,_ _don't_ _be_ _out_ _there_ , he prayed. He would fight and he would survive as long as he could, because that's what Kate wanted and he owed her that, but he had no illusions about how this would end. He just hoped Kate wasn't in the stands watching when it happened.

The gate lifted. The first two men were called: Apollonius and Chilo. Apollonius walked out bravely, back straight, expression stoic. Chilo had to be shoved in by one of the guards. He skittered after Apollonius, hunched and shaking. Apollonius was given a shield, Chilo a sword. To even the odds, Crispinus supposed, pushing closer to the front to get a better view as the gate slid back down.

The announcer called for them to start. Chilo jumped at the yell and swung at his opponent without aiming. Apollonius not only blocked it, but used the momentum to knock the sword out of Chilo's weak grip with the shield. Chilo yelped and tripped over his own feet in his haste to get away. He landed on his back with a loud _whump_.

The second he started to rise, Apollonius brought down his shield and smashed it right over smaller man's head, again and again until bone crunched and brain matter flew.

The crowd roared.

Quick as that, the first battle was over.

A man named Mithridates was sent out into the arena next. It would have been an even match up, but Apollonius had retrieved the sword and Mithridates had nothing. He dodged well enough but with no way to gain the upper hand, he was eventually felled.

The next two faced the same fate.

Then came Isidorus. He was tall and thin to the point of emaciation, but he was quick. He managed to grab Mithridates' wrist as the man swung the blade for his collar and did something with his fingers that made the reigning champion drop his weapon with a cry of pain. Isidorus then jerked the man forward into a stumbled twirl that put Mithridates in a perfect choke hold. When he finally let go, Mithridates collapsed face-first into the sand and didn't get up. Isidorus picked up the fallen sword and stabbed him through the back, straight into his heart. If he hadn't been dead before, he was now.

He took out the following three with such ease the crowd began to grumble. When the fourth one went down, a beefy man named Glycon, cheers went up only because it meant it was Crispinus' turn to face Isidorus, and surely, the famous gladiator would put up a much better fight.

The gate rose. Crispinus took a centering breath, said one last prayer that Kate was far away, and stepped out into the arena.

The cheers were deafening. Crispinus had rarely seen the stands so full. The heat was a breathless ripple across his skin. The sand crunched under his boots. Here and there were puddles of blood. The bodies of the fallen had been removed between each match by fleet-footed guards, and now it stood empty except for him and his opponent.

Isidorus waited for him in the middle of the arena, his grip easy on the sword. Comfortable. Practiced. More than mere luck had gotten the man this far. This was a master swordsman he was facing.

Isidorus tossed away the shield but stood between it and Crispinus, so that the Crispinus couldn't take it for himself.

"Who knew before my death I'd get to kill the famous gladiator Agallon," Isidorus said, while around them the cheers died down to anxious murmurs. People taking bets, perhaps. "Truly, it is the last moments of a man's life that are the most exciting, don't you think?"

"I wouldn't know," said Crispinus blandly. "I'm not facing mine yet, unlike you."

Isidorus laughed. "Oh, you will be a fun one."

The murmuring grew louder, almost distressed. Crispinus cocked an ear towards the lowest line of spectators, straining to hear…

"He wears a bloody tear on his chest…"

"Did someone give it to him? Who would give a gladiator such a thing?"

"His heart bleeds. Why does it bleed?"

Crispinus looked down and realized Kate's earring was still pinned to his _tunica_. He'd forgotten it was there, not having noticed it when dressing earlier.

Isidorus was listening too, his expression amused. "Did you wear that little bit of jewelry to purposely make people worry?" he asked.

"If this is all it takes to make them worry than society is in worse shape than I thought," Crispinus replied, not answering. Let them all think he was trying to make some sort of grand statement. He knew what the ruby really was. It was evidence of Kate's love, and he was going to wear it proudly to his death.

The announcer drew a deep breath. Crispinus let his body go loose, balancing on the balls of his feet. Ready for what was coming. Ready…. Ready…

The announcer gave his yell, and Isidorus attacked.

* * *

The Temple of Vesta wasn't so much a temple as a little round hut, hardly bigger than a gazebo you might find in a neighbor's backyard. Kate thought it's what the home of the three little pigs would have looked like, if they'd been smart enough to work together instead of each building their own place.

The walls were made out of brick, with metal crosshatched over it. Sticks and straw and some type of dried reed made up the roof, with a small hole at the top where smoke plumed steadily into the sky. The only "Roman" thing about it was the Corinthian columns that framed the entrance.

The entrance that she couldn't _enter_.

She stood outside the locked temple door with the half dozen or so other women who were waiting to collect fire for the day—she knew it was locked because she had all but broken the handle trying to force her way inside. Each of the women she waited with carried an unlit torch, except one, who carried a copper bowl filled with oil.

_This_ _must_ _be_ _what_ _the_ _early_ _stages_ _of_ _a_ _mob_ _looks_ _like_ , Kate thought sardonically. _All_ _they_ _need_ _is_ _a_ _couple_ _pitchforks_ _and_ _they'll_ _be_ _good_ _to_ _go_.

If anyone _did_ come by with a pitchfork, she'd be hard pressed not to swipe it and use it to break down the temple door. Where were all these _vestales_? She'd been standing here for over ten minutes now, just waiting. She told herself not to think about Crispin or she would drive herself nuts, but of course that's all she could do. Was he in the arena yet? Would he fight like she told him to? It was his resignation that scared her the most. She could bring back a whole army to free him, but it would be for nothing if he gave up and died before she could get back.

No. Kate gave herself a sharp shake. No thinking about that. He would fight. No matter what, he would. She had to believe that.

_And if this doesn't work? If these vestales never come outside?_

They would. They had to.

But the doubt had Kate starting for the temple door again. No more waiting. She would do whatever she had to in order to get inside, even if she had to huff and puff and blow the whole temple down!

It opened just as she was sucking in her breath to yell.

An older vestalis stepped out and nearly ran into her. She carried a small cup of oil, soft yellow flames dancing merrily across the top. Kate jumped back before it could spill on her.

She was thoroughly sick of fire.

The woman was dressed very conservatively, her wraps well made and keeping every feminine inch of her covered _._ _A_ _Roman_ _nun_ , Kate thought irreverently, and smothered the insane urge to giggle. The misplaced humor told her more than anything else about the fragile state of her emotions right now. Though she was doing her best to stay composed and think rationally, it wouldn't take much to crack her at this point and she couldn't allow that, for Crispin' sake.

"Gracious, child, calm yourself," the vestalis said. "There is enough fire for everyone." She peered at her. "Where is your torch?"

"I don't have one," said Kate. "I'm here for you."

The woman raised her eyebrows just slightly in surprise. "Me?"

"Yes. I need your help. It's urgent."

"Help with what?"

Two other _vestales_ appeared behind her. They too carried small cups of fire. The older woman took Kate's arm and led her off to the side so the others could get by. They made their way carefully down the steps to the group of waiting women, making small talk as they lit their torches and bowl.

"You've heard of the… the _event_ going on right now, at the coliseum?" Kate asked. "With the gladiator, Crispinus Agallon?"

"I don't think there is a soul in this city who hasn't," said the _vestalis_. "It's not often such a well-known person is executed in such a fashion."

Kate ignored the painful clench in her gut at the woman's words. "Well I need you to stop it."

"Excuse me?"

"Stop it. I need you to come with me and stop it. Please. Before it's too late."

"My dear child—"

" _Please!_ Crispinus doesn't deserve to die like that. He doesn't deserve to die at all!"

The older _vestalis_ gave Kate the once-over she'd been too surprised to do before. Kate bit her lip and fought not to fidget. She knew what she looked like. Her hair was a tangled bird's nest and her clothes wrinkled from lying in a pile on the floor all night. Her bandaged hand was swollen and discolored, and her face, neck and arms were covered in scabbed nicks.

A mess, in other words.

"My dear child," she said again, "though I can see you must have been a great fan of his—"

"More than a fan," said Kate, and feeling nothing less than the truth would suffice, told her honestly, "he's my future."

The two _vestales_ behind her made a noise of sympathy. Apparently, they had finished their rounds and come closer to listen instead of going inside.

The one in front of her was less impressed.

"Be that as it may," she said, "whether or not he is deserving of his fate is not for me or you to decide."

"But you can save him!" Kate cried. "I know you can! It's one of your powers as a priestess of Vesta. If you go and tell them to pardon Crispinus then they'll have to do it!"

The woman looked taken aback by her outburst. She took a step away from her and tugged her robes closer to her body, as if Kate were trying to expose her in some way.

"We've been known to pardon those who would be put to death now and again," she admitted grudgingly after several seconds of tense silence. "But that is for the Fates to decide, not us. If they will us to be there, then we will be guided by their hand to—"

"Screw the Fates!" Kate cried, making the _vestales_ behind her both gasp and the one in front of her purse her lips as if Kate had just shoved a spoonful of olive oil into her mouth. "They can't make you do anything you don't want to do, and they can't _stop_ you from doing the things you want to do either!"

At the older woman's reproachful glare, Kate struggled to tamp down on her frustration. Yelling and putting down this woman's beliefs was the worst possible way to try and win her over.

In a strained but calmer voice Kate said, "Please. You have the chance to make your own fate and save an innocent man's life. I am _begging_ you. _Help_ _me_ _save_ _him_."

The older _vestalis_ didn't soften at all at Kate's plaintive tone. She drew herself up, tugging her robes even more tightly around her as if she itched to pull them over her head and block Kate from her sight completely.

"We are not tools to be used at your whim, child," she said, her voice soft but curt. "As pitiable as your situation is, I will not aid you. If you think to thwart the Fates, then you will have to do it on your own."

She turned and stalked back up the steps, the cup in her hands shaking slightly. At the doorway, she turned back and in a stiff voice added. "The gods be merciful on you."

The door slammed shut.

Kate stood there, not quite believing what had just happened. She'd had the perfect plan and the perfect opportunity, and she'd blown it. Was Crispin seriously going to die now because of her lack of social skills?

Bitter laughter bubbled up and she let it spill free, though not her tears; she had no right to shed them when this was all her fault. She was cracking, she realized, and felt the panic rise up, wild and uncontrollable. She wanted to hit something, but with only one working hand that would have been her second stupidest act of the day, so she refrained.

_Focus_ , she told herself as she spun away from the temple. _There_ _has_ _to_ _be_ _something_ _else,_ _someone_ _else._ Maybe it wasn't too late to go find Evodius. Or maybe she should return to the coliseum and see if Scipio made it back with _his_ rescue team. Maybe alone he wouldn't manage it, but with her there—

"Child?"

The two other _vestales_ had disposed of their cups somewhere and were now standing in front of her. Kate had forgotten about them.

"Child?" the one asked again. The term of address sounded ridiculous because the girl had to be at least five years younger than Kate, and her companion even younger.

"Yeah?" said Kate, wary.

The one looked at the other, and they seemed to reach some silent decision together because they both nodded before turning back to Kate. "We will come with you," the older one said.

"You… you will?" Kate hardly dared to believe it, hardly dared to accept the hope swelling in her heart, making it pound.

"Yes. We do not think you can beat the Fates, as you do," she told her solemnly. "If it is their wish that your gladiator should die, then he will, regardless of what we do. But if it would give you comfort to try, than we will aid you the best we can, and the Fates will decide the outcome."

_So_ _much_ _for_ _inspiring_ _social_ _change_ , Kate thought wryly. Oh well. If it would get them to come, they could believe whatever the hell they wanted to.

"Thank you," she said, embarrassed when her voice caught a bit. "You have no idea how much I appreciate you two doing this."

They both bowed their heads in acknowledgement. "Shall we go then?" said the younger one.

Kate nodded, relief and adrenaline for what was to come making her shaky. She headed back the way she had come, unable to stop from breaking into a run.

The _vestales_ followed.

* * *

"You're as strong as the rumors say," said Isidorus, impressed. "If I wasn't the one with the sword right now, I wouldn't like my chances."

"You shouldn't like them now," said Crispinus.

His opponent laughed. "Is that so?"

Crispinus dodged another swing of the blade that was intended to slice his neck, but thanks to his speed, only clipped his shoulders.

"It is."

Isidorus only laughed again.

The stands were silent as everyone watched. Crispinus had never known them to be so rapt before. It was unsettling, how much his impending death seemed to mean to them.

"Shall we end this now?" Isidorus asked, his thoughts running parallel to his own. "Put them out of their misery? And you out of yours?"

"Who says I'm in misery?" said Crispinus.

Isidorus sneered, revealing his first evidence of foul humor. "We are all in misery here, gladiator. Even the people watching. It's why they come. To make themselves feel better, feel alive, feel thankful that they are not the ones down here fighting to eke out just a few more minutes of breath from their pathetic lives."

"My life isn't pathetic," Crispinus said.

"Than I feel even more sorry for you, who has something to leave. Is she very beautiful?"

"What?" The question threw Crispinus off guard for just the smallest of moments, but it was enough. Isidorus saw it and struck, thrusting his sword straight into Crispinus' chest.

It was too fast to evade. Crispinus clapped his hands over the flat sides of the blade even as the tip sunk deep into his flesh. His grab sliced up his palms but slowed the momentum enough that when the weapon hit bone it glanced off instead of cutting through.

The pain swallowed him. When next he could see and breathe and think, he was flat on his back in the sand, his blood flowing freely down his chest, pooling in tiny tributaries between the muscles of his abdomen before spilling down his sides onto the ground.

"As I said, you're as strong as the rumors say," whispered Isidorus. "I'm sorry you have to leave her. A woman wonderful enough to distract you with just a thought is a prize indeed."

"Not… not leaving," Crispinus wheezed, but the pain was too great to say more.

"Ah, but you are," said Isidorus regretfully, raising the sword. "See you in Tartarus, my friend."

Crispinus kicked out. The toe of his boot hit the sword's copper pommel and sent the weapon flying from his opponent's hands. Isidorus stood there, dumbstruck, for roughly three seconds before turning to run after it. Mistake. If he'd come for Crispinus, bare-fisted, he would have had a better chance. Now he'd left himself open for attack.

As soon as he turned his back, Crispinus lunged. The spectators' excited cries gave away the element of surprise, but luckily he was so close that even with Isidorus' fast reflexes, he managed to grab him by the head before he could turn, and with one hard twist, the man's neck snapped and he dropped dead onto the sand.

There was a stunned pause from the stands, then the crowd erupted. Guards rushed out to collect Isidorus' body. Crispinus wiped sweat from his eyes and, pressing a hand to his injury, collected the sword. Adrenaline pounded through him. He could feel the high that he used to get, that sensation of freeness that only surviving death could give you. He let it take him over, let it numb him to the pain of his injuries and thoughts of the future. No more worrying about Kate. No more fearing what he couldn't change. He would fight, he would kill. That's what he'd been trained to do and do it he would.

He was a gladiator again.

* * *

Kate could hear the cheering from five blocks away. Standing outside the coliseum, it was deafening. She prayed they were cheering for Crispin, prayed it meant he was still alive.

"This way!" she yelled the women racing behind her.

There was only one guard at the entrance, but he was intimidating enough when he pulled his sword and glared at her speedy approach.

"We need to get inside," she said.

"Three _sestertii_."

Was he asking for money? She didn't have any of that.

The _vestales_ had caught up with her now. She glanced at the guard and saw that he was gapping at them. So he recognized what they were. Good. If he did than that meant others would too.

Using his shock to her advantage, Kate said, "These women and I need to get inside, right now."

"But—" The man looked at her, horrified. "They're not supposed to be here during a… a—"

"You would deny a _vestalis_ entrance?" she said in the most arrogant tone she could muster.

"But it's not right, them witnessing a—" He couldn't even say the words in front of them.

He wasn't letting them in either.

"Damn you, move!" Kate snapped.

That broke him out of his daze a bit. Kate could have kicked herself. What did she _just_ learn about needing keep her temper when she talked to people?

The guard's gaze hardened. "No. I don't think so."

Kate planted her feet, cocked her hip, and pointed a threatening finger at him, pointedly ignoring the sword he still had raised.

"Look, you—"

"Kate!"

Kate turned. Evodius was running towards her. Thank you, god! Reinforcement.

He stopped dead and did a bit of gaping himself when he saw the two _vestales_.

"I need to get them inside!" Kate told him. "But Mr. King of the Doors here won't—"

" _You_ brought them?"

"I did."

He looked from her to the _vestales_ , who were now blushing slightly and looking anywhere but at his mangled face. It made them miss seeing the surprise, wonderment, and horror that all crossed his face when he realized what she was trying to do.

"Are you sure this is a wise plan?" he asked her quietly.

"It's the _only_ plan," Kate told him. "And I'm out of time. So either help me or…" She didn't finish. She _really_ wanted his help.

He thought about it a minute, then blew out a breath and bobbed his head. "Okay. Okay, if you're sure…"

"I am."

The guard scowled at all of them. "If you think I'm going to let you in now—"

Evodius had pulled his sword and had relieved the guard of his own before the man could even finish his sentence.

He pressed the tip of his blade to the man's neck. "You were saying?" he asked pleasantly. And then in a more serious voice, "Go, Kate."

Kate and _vestales_ went.

* * *

Either his opponent, Buccio, had a spirit twin following him around, or Crispinus was seeing double. Not a good sign.

He gave a couple hard blinks and shook his head. Buccio melted back into one person, a lumpy pig-faced man who should have been easier to kill than he was, considering Crispinus was the one with the sword _and_ the experience. But blood loss was making him dizzy and the man was light-footed for carrying so much excess weight.

Crispinus swung his blade again, missed, and cursed foully.

The first man out after he'd killed Isidorus had been easy. Herclides had been an older man who had not even bothered to fight. He'd entered the arena with his head held high, whispering to Crispinus, " _Pax_ " when the gladiator had stepped forward to begin his attack. Herclides had then lowered himself onto his knees, and with his arms upraised, cried, "Know this: I die today an innocent man!" Then he'd nodded to Crispinus, who had proceeded to step up behind him and slit his throat, quick and painless.

At least for Crispinus.

The next had been a younger man, Micon. He'd cowered like an abused dog when Crispinus came after him, and Crispinus had paused out of sympathy and guilt. But the boy had somehow managed to sneak a dagger into the arena with him and pulled it out while Crispinus was busy fighting his conscience. He buried the blade deep in Crispinus' upper thigh, and Crispinus had reacted instinctively and swung, decapitating the young man in one stroke.

Now he faced the last, Buccio, who'd been allowed to keep Micon's dagger after his body had been taken away. It was good for him but bad for Crispinus, who was seeing two of him again.

"Come and get me, you gladiator bastard," Buccio taunted. He had a wet, gravely-sounding voice that turned Crispinus' stomach, or that could have been the smell of death that was slowly permeating the hot, stagnant air of the arena.

What he wouldn't give for breeze right now.

When he didn't step forward, Buccio made his own swipe. Crispinus didn't react fast enough and suffered a long but shallow cut across his chest. Blood he couldn't afford to lose began to run.

Buccio cackled, "Point for me."

Crispinus snarled at him. Glad when it wiped the confident smirk of his opponent's face and replaced it with fear.

He lunged.

* * *

It was chaos in the stands.

Kate and the _vestales_ came out halfway up the second level. Most of the people were on their feet. They were yelling, cheering, jumping up and down. She saw one throw a sandal and several others threw grapes. The smell of wine and sweat was a cloying thing inside her nostrils. The two _vestales_ huddle close behind her.

"What do we do?" the older one asked.

Her gaze immediately went to the arena where two men were locked in combat. A heavy set man waved a dagger, fending off his opponent who carried a sword. Even through all the blood and sand caking his body, Kate recognized that determined gate and curly head of hair.

Her heart leapt. It was Crispin! He was still alive! She'd made it in time.

She looked around for the emperor. He was the one ultimately in charge of all this. If she could get the _vestales_ to him…

She spotted his seat and her stomach sank. He was on the opposite side, across the arena, what looked like a wall of guards surrounding him.

The vestales spotted him too.

"We'll never get over there," said the younger girl.

"Fate," said the older, shrugging, though she looked regretful.

"Like hell," snapped Kate. She hadn't come this far just to give up.

A new idea came to her.

"We don't need to get to him," she told the girls. "He just has to see you and know who you are."

"But how do we do that?"

"Like this." And taking a deep breath, Kate screamed, " _Vestales_! There are _Vestales_ in here! Look! _Vestales_!"

So it wasn't her cleverest idea ever. Kate didn't care. It worked. The people closest to them saw them and, after a surprised moment, started yelling too. Within seconds, the word was being spread.

There were _vestales_ in the stands.

* * *

Down below, Crispinus just managed to avoid getting his hand sliced off. He really was slowing down. Thankfully, Buccio was also tiring. Not from wounds, but from his weight. His breathing was labored as Crispinus forced him to keep retreating in loopy circles across the sand. Sweat poured from him as fast as blood was pouring from Crispinus.

The gladiator pressed harder against the gash in his chest, but it was the deep stab wound in his leg that worried him the most. His steps were squishy from all the blood pooling into his boot, and whenever he put is full weight down his muscles screamed and tried to seize up on him.

Buccio tripped over something—thank the gods—and went down. It was the shield, forgotten and half buried in the sand.

Buccio picked it up and hurled it at Crispinus like an oversized discus, giving himself time to get back to his feet. Crispinus caught it, ignoring the bite of pain as it cut into the slashes across his palm, and sent it flying back, twice as hard.

It hit Buccio in the back of the legs and sent him sprawling. Crispinus pinned him with a boot to his back and steady sword tip at the base of his neck.

The man began to plead, wet, whimpering words where seconds ago he'd been a cocky bastard doing his damndest to kill him. Crispinus knew better than to show mercy this time.

Before he could make the final cut, the man flung himself up, probably in an attempt to knock Crispinus off and escape. But he misjudged and half slit his own throat on the sword on his way up.

Blood sprayed. Buccio fell back down with a choking gurgle, clawing at his throat. Crispinus had half a mind to stand there and watch him bleed out—served him right—but the terror in the man's eyes flooded him with loathing, for the Buccio and himself, and he finished what the man had begun.

_It's_ _over_ , he thought, flinging away the blood-soaked blade. In a few moments, they would release the lion, and he would let it come. He had fought enough, killed enough. Kate couldn't ask any more from him.

Though it sounded like she was.

He swore he could hear her, and wondered if he was more far gone than he'd thought. The usual cheering that usually rose up after a kill hadn't come. Instead, people were yelling, some angrily, some in a panic, others in awe. And over all of them, Kate's voice, so clear the rest seemed like mere echoes in comparison: " _Vestales_! Stop the fight! There are _vestales_ here!"

His gaze swept the stands, looking for her, joy and terror at her being there making him even more lightheaded. Why was she here? What in the world was she doing?

The creak of a gate swinging open behind him distracted him. Screams went up, followed by and enraged roar.

The lion had been released.

* * *

The emperor knew they were there. He _knew_! She saw the words reach him, saw him look over and spot them in middle of all the people who clustered around her and the _vestales_. She saw his pause, could actually _see_ the debate going on his mind.

She saw him lift his hand in the gesture that would spare Crispinus's life.

But not everyone saw. Not whoever commanded the gates. They didn't see.

The _vestales_ screamed.

Kate watched, horrified and frozen, as a huge, female lion rushed out into the ring, roaring and snapping at the air as it took in it's surroundings, all the people, all the yelling. Trapped. Nowhere to hide. She could see its ribs, the way it's head looked too big for its body. And the scars… good god, how long had they tortured it to make it look like that?

It spotted Crispin and roared. It was going to kill him. Out of hunger or fear or feral rage, it didn't matter. If someone didn't do something fast, Crispin would die.

Crispin tried to back away, slowly, but he was wobbly on his feet and that only seemed to incense the lion more. It roared again and began to pursue him, warily but with purpose.

_Oh_ _god_ , thought Kate, _oh_ _god,_ _oh_ _god,_ _oh_ _god._ She needed to do something, but she didn't know what. Guards who had seen the emperor gesture were now clustered near the entrance, but none were going to go inside and willingly put themselves between a lioness and her prey, armed or not.

"Enjoying the show?" A hateful voice whispered in Kate's ear.

Kate whirled. Valencia stood there, looking as beautiful and ferocious as ever, her golden locks upswept and her outfit perfectly draped around her. She looked as if she were attending some dinner party, not an execution.

"I heard you yelling," Valencia said. "Disgusting that you're still alive, but I guess that's what I get for relying on incompetent gladiator masters. Besides, watching you watch Crispinus die is actually quiet satisfying."

Kate couldn't believe the woman was standing there, mocking her with such pleasure as her world was crashing down around her.

"I hate you," she said, her whole body trembling with suppressed rage. "I hate you so much. I've never hated _anyone_ as much as I hate you."

"The feeling is mutual, believe me," said Valencia, then she looked down at the arena and said in a pleasure-filled tone, "Oooh, there he goes."

The lion had reached Crispin, who was still trying to put distance between them while remaining as nonthreatening as he could be. It swiped at him with one giant paw and Crispin cried out in pain as he grabbed his arm and fell to his knees.

The sound startled the big cat and it sprinted back, just a few feet, before looping around for another go, growling deep in its throat.

"Nice try with the _vestales_ , by the way," Valencia said. "Very ingenious of you. How did you get them to come with you? It's not like you have any money to bribe them, or status, or beauty—not that they'd be affected by the last one, but I felt it important to point out. It will forever be a mystery to me how Crispinus could actually want you when you're such a—"

Kate punched her. She hadn't been able to stop herself. The action sent all new levels of pain exploding up her injured hand and she gasped and clutched it, almost missing seeing Valencia tumble backwards into the wooden guardrail, arms pinwheeling as blood gushed from her nose, and flip heels-over-head over the side.

Her shriek cut through the clamor of the spectators. Kate and the _vestales_ made it to the rail just in time to see Valencia land, feet-first, in the sand, her legs not so much folding under her as snapping on impact.

The lion paused halfway back to Crispin, who lay barely conscious on the ground. Not moving, not speaking. Valencia on the other hand, was still quite conscious, and was shrieking and flailing in unimaginable pain.

The lion hissed, crouched and hissed again. It didn't like the noise, and all Valencia's writhing around was confusing it. The cat started for her, quicker than it had come for Crispin. The minute it was away from him, five guards rushed out. They hauled Crispin to his feet and began dragging him out of the arena. One paused and looked over at Valencia—perhaps he recognized her as the consul's daughter—but the lion had already reached her, and Valencia's screams of terror were cut short as sharp fangs sunk deep and ripped out her throat.

The entire coliseum was in an uproar. Everyone was one their feet, shouting, arguing. Exclamations like, "Gods!" and "Hera have mercy!" were interspersed between questions like, "Did you see what just happened?" and, "Who was that? Did you see?"

Kate pushed away from the railing and tore down the stairs, not caring when the _vestales_ didn't follow. She didn't have time to think about what she had just done, or what it meant that her initial feelings when she had watched Valencia disappear over the side of the guardrail hadn't been horror or regret, but a deep and vicious satisfaction that the woman who had done everything in her power to destroy her and Crispin was finally gone.

All she felt now was relief. Heart-pounding, wing-sprouting relief. They had Crispin. He was alive. Injured, but alive. She would take it. She would take _him_ , far, far away from here where he would never have to fight and kill again. Where she would never have to fear for his life like this, or hers either, for that matter.

Never again. It was over.

She made it to the ground floor and headed for the east gate where she'd seen them taking Crispin. She beat the guards to it, watching as they slowly but steadily helped her gladiator across the arena towards her. She glanced over at the lion, but the cat was still enjoying its kill, and didn't so much as glance their way.

Crispin had come to enough to walk on his own, though he limped and had to lean heavily on two of the guards. Kate called his name and his head jerked up. He saw her and the love and admiration in his eyes when he smiled at her was like a balm to her very soul. They were going to be okay. Miraculously, against all the odds, everything had turned out right.

Unable to wait for him to reach her, she started towards him. Something tangled around her feet and she kicked at it, but it wouldn't come lose. She couldn't take so much as a step.

Kate looked down. Thick green vines were winding their way up her body. They had already passed her knees and, as she watched, looped securely around her waist. She twisted, tried to kick out, but though they were soft and pliable enough not to hurt her, they wouldn't break.

"What the hell?"

"Stay calm. They won't hurt you," said a voice beside her, and Kate turned to see a pretty, petite woman step forward, her young face solemn.

"Who the hell are you? What are you doing to me?" said Kate, jerking her head when one of the vines brushed her chin as it was wrapping around her shoulders.

"My name is Persephone," the woman said.

"Persephone? Like, the goddess of Spring, Persephone?"

"Yes."

Such a simple word. _Yes_. As if it were of no great consequence. Kate didn't have time to be impressed.

"Well release me!"

"I can't."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I haven't said she could," said Lachesis, appearing next to her.

Kate cursed and instinctively tried to move away, but of course she couldn't go anywhere.

"Not you again," she said. "Crispin is alive and has been pardoned. We beat you. It's over."

Lachesis narrowed her eyes at her. "Not yet it's not."

She snapped her fingers. A man appeared beside the goddess of Spring. He was very tall with thick dark hair and muscles that could give even Crispin a run for his money. When he looked at Kate, she felt remorse slam into her like a wall of water, soaking her to the bone with regret and making her want to cry. God, what was this?

He looked away and the feeling eased enough that Kate no longer felt as if she was going to dissolve into tears at any second. He nodded to Lachesis curtly. "Fate."

Lachesis gestured to Crispin and the others. They were barely twenty yards away now. The guards seemed to not notice the strange little group forming in front of them, but Crispin did. His smile slipped and his expression became concerned. He picked up his pace but it was still excruciatingly slow.

"Hades," she said. "Go."

Hades? _The_ Hades? Like the God of the Underworld? Of the _dead_?

He strode out into the arena, directly for Crispin, who slowed at the sight of him. The guards seemingly saw nothing for they walked on, not even pausing as the man passed them by.

Kate struggled against the vines harder. Persephone made noises of concern saying, "Please. You'll hurt yourself."

"Where is he going? What's he gonna do to Crispin?"

"He must fall in the arena," whispered Lachesis, her gaze locked on the two men. "And so he shall."

"No!" Kate watched, horrified, as before her eyes the god of the Underworld became transparent, ghost-like and wispy, with all of solidity of a cloud. He rushed Crispin and the gladiator balked, throwing up his hands to ward him off. But Hades crashed right into him, and Crispin dropped—just collapsed, _thud_ —into the sand.

Kate was yelling but it wasn't words. Pure rage poured out of her. She clawed at the vines, ripping and twisting like a wild thing. She demanded Persephone release her, but the goddess only shook her head and backed away.

The guards noticed Crispin's collapse and rushed back. They hauled him up and his head lolled in Kate's direction. Empty eyes stared back at her. Utterly lifeless. Gone.

Kate stared, refusing to comprehend. "What did you do to him?" she cried. " _What_ _did_ _you_ _just_ _do_?"

"I did what needed to be done," said Lachesis. She waved a hand at the stands that had gone hushed at the gladiator's fall. "Do you know how many lives will be affected by this?" she murmured to Kate. "How many people his death will inspire? How many beliefs it will change, the paths it will alter? You cannot conceive the depth of influence this will have on society. I couldn't allow you to ruin that. Not for any reason."

Kate didn't hear her excuses. She'd stopped listening after the words "his death." Crispin was dead. Her worst fear come true. After all they'd done, Fate had appeared, and with a single command, taken Crispin's life without so much as an apology.

Kate felt sick. She watched as the guards carried Crispin out. The grief went so deep she couldn't feel it yet. Shock at having tried so hard, and failed so completely, was keeping reality from settling in. Maybe, if she was lucky, she'd stay numb like this forever.

Her redheaded tour guide appeared in front of her then, just as silently and instantaneously as everyone else had. In her anguish, Kate just couldn't work up the ability to be surprised, or to care.

"You're late," said Lachesis.

"My apologies," said Aphrodite, though even Kate could tell she didn't mean it. The goddess of Love nodded slightly to Persephone, who had been hanging back against the far wall. "Spring."

"Did you tell him?" Persephone asked her, voice quiet and sad.

Aphrodite's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "I did. He was not happy with me."

"He will understand in time."

Aphrodite nodded once.

Lachesis gestured to Kate. "Well, goddess? You made the deal. Send her back."

Back. Kate didn't need three guesses to know where they meant. To think, a week ago she would have begged them to do this. Now all she felt was empty. Empty and cold.

Aphrodite stepped forward. Kate slumped under the grip of the vines. "Why did you do all of this?" she whispered. "Why bring me here, make me feel so much, _love_ so much, just to take it all away from me?"

"I'm sorry," was all the goddess said.

Kate dropped her head. "No, you're not."

Footsteps suddenly pounded down the hall behind her. She heard Scipio's voice— _Scipio_ , of all people—call out, "Wait! Aphrodite, don't!"

"You're right," the Goddess of Love whispered to her. "I'm not."

Then she sang her chant, and the world melted away.


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

It happened when he was halfway across the ocean.

Jason doubled over in his seat, clutching his chest and gasping as the special connection he'd thought cut and dead suddenly snapped taut, sending his heart galloping as emotion not his own poured into him. Despair, anger, grief. All things he had already been feeling himself coincidentally, but not to this degree. Not even close.

From next to him, Jason's seatmate for the flight, a burly middle-aged man who took up more than his fair share of the armrest, grabbed Jason's shoulder and yanked him upright.

"Hey, buddy, are you all right? You're not having a heart attack are you? You seem a little young for that."

"Fine," Jason managed. He struggled to separate the new feelings inside of him from his own, but they were so intense it was impossible to differentiate what was his and what wasn't. They overwhelmed him. A person should never feel this much pain, and Jason shouldn't have been feeling it at all.

"You don't look fine," said his seatmate.

"Heartburn," said Jason. "Had it forever." He tried to sound nonchalant, but he was too breathless for it.

"You want me to buzz for the stewardess? Maybe they've got some Tums or something you can take."

"Not necessary, but thank you."

The man looked at him doubtfully but settled back.

Jason sat there, trying to look calm while his insides where in tumult. The feelings he was sensing, it could only mean one thing.

Kate.

Kate was back.

She was back!

The happiness that filled him eclipsed the part of him that could sense her pain. It enabled him to get ahold of himself and not break down in tears over an agony that wasn't his own. How had she returned? Why? And why was she so upset? Something terrible must have happened for her to return in such a state.

The knowledge dampened his joy at having her back, but not enough to ruin his relief that she was home. Safe.

What felt like a small eternity later, the plane landed. Jason had his cell out and was dialing Paul before he'd even finished de-boarding.

"She's back," he said when his father answered.

"What?"

"Kate. She's back."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. I'm booking the first flight back. Can you go to the hotel in case she goes there?"

"Of course," said Paul, sounding more than a little bewildered. "But I still don't understand how you know—"

"I just do," said Jason, returning the pilot's nod as he shuffled off the plane along with the other passengers. "And we need to find her, fast. Something's not right. Maybe you can talk the police into doing another search?"

"I'll do my damndest," said Paul. "Call me when you get here."

"I will."

Next he called his wife. Sarah was nothing but understanding when he told her that he'd made it back to the States, but was leaving again after hearing news that Kate had been found. It would be true soon enough.

"Of course you need to go," she said, "Poor Kate. I'm so happy they found her. Where was she? Is she all right?"

"I don't know details yet," Jason hedged, making his way to the ticket counter. "I'll let you know as soon as I do. How's Elizabeth?"

"Missing her daddy," Sarah said, "But wonderful otherwise."

"I'm glad."

"You're getting double diaper duty when you get back here though. I need a break, and you deserve a turn."

He laughed. "I'll look forward to it."

In the background, he heard a baby's happy gurgle.

"Elizabeth's looking forward to it too," said Sarah.

* * *

Twelve hours later, Jason was back in Rome. He called Paul as he stood waiting for a taxi outside the airport.

"Anything?"

"We found her," Paul said, but his voice was quiet. Hesitant.

"Is she all right?"

"Physically? Yes, for the most part. She's in X-ray right now getting her hand checked out. They think she might have broken it. But other than that she looks okay. I'm taking her back to my place once they get done. You can meet us there."

Jason waved to an oncoming taxi. The driver saw him and pulled the vehicle up next to the curb. He got in and gave the man Paul's address.

"Where did you find her?" Jason asked as the taxi returned to the traffic. "Did she tell you anything?"

"I didn't find her. Some tourists did."

"Tourists?"

"Yes." His father paused. "They found her down in the ruins of the coliseum. One of the unstable areas no ones supposed to be in. It took security over and hour to get her out. The news is saying she fell in."

"The _news_?"

"Yes. 'Missing Tourist Found in Rome's Coliseum.' They're having a field day with it. It's why I'm taking her home with me instead of staying at a hotel in the city. She'd be mobbed there."

"What did Kate say about it?"

"Nothing." Paul sighed. "She won't speak to me. She won't speak to anyone."

"She's grieving." Jason could still feel her pain, though he'd managed to suppress the worst of it so all he felt now was a dull ache.

"How do you—never mind. Are you on your way?"

"Yes."

"Good. They're bringing her out now. See you in a bit."

Jason beat them to the house. It was on the outskirts of the city. A great sprawling building with more space than a family of three could ever need. Paul's wife was out and his son away at college, which Jason thought was for the better with Kate coming.

He waited for them on the front steps, anxiously tapping his foot so long he got tired and had to stop.

When his father's car finally pulled up, Jason felt his happiness ratchet up along with his anxiety. His sister was back, but she was by no means well.

Paul got out first.

"I'll wait for you two inside," he said.

Jason nodded. "Thank you."

Paul gripped his shoulder briefly, then let go and went in. Jason started for the car.

Kate stepped out of the vehicle. Jason's heart constricted. He'd never seen anyone look so defeated before, especially not his spitfire of a sister. Her shoulders were slumped, her head bowed. She looked up as he neared her, and the anguish in those big brown eyes was devastating.

She made no attempt to hug him or speak. She just stood there, looking broken and lost. Paul had given her his jacket to wear over the strange robes she had on. They were wrinkled and dirty, with bloodstains here and there. Her hair hung in a tangle and her right hand was in a cast.

Jason attempted a smile. "You're a hot mess, sis," he said with forced levity.

Nothing. No smile. No insults. He sighed.

When he reached for her, slowly, Kate showed her first true signs of life. She jerked away, saying in a hoarse voice, " _Don't_."

The connection to her thrummed, one sorrowful note. It made him want to weep.

Jason caught his sister by the shoulders and hauled her into his arms, locking his muscles when she tried to pull away.

"Let go," she said.

"No."

"Please, Jason. I can't—" Tears welled. She pounded on his chest. "Let go, damn you!"

"He's gone, isn't he?" Jason murmured. "It's not just that you're here and he's there. Something happened and he's gone."

Kate sagged against him. A single sob broke free.

"I'm so sorry, Kate."

She shook her head, trying to deny the words.

"Kate—"

"They killed him right in front of me," she whispered. "We had won. They should have let him go, but they didn't. They killed him while I watched, and I couldn't do anything to save him."

_Christ_.

"I'm so sorry, Kate," he said again, knowing it wasn't enough.

"Not your fault."

No. But it didn't stop him from feeling like he should have been able to do something. He was her brother. He was supposed to look after her.

Kate withdrew from him and Jason let her go. He felt completely useless in the face of her pain, as if he was once again that helpless child who couldn't protect anyone, not even the people he loved. He'd promised himself he would never be in that position again, and yet here he was.

He _hated_ it.

"We should get inside," he said eventually. "Paul will start to worry."

The old Kate would have made some scathing retort about how she didn't care if their father worried or not. But the Kate before him now only nodded and led the way inside, wiping at her eyes as if the tears burned her.

Jason followed silently behind.

* * *

The Elysium Fields were more beautiful than Crispinus had imagined.

Gently sloping hills exceeded his sight, every inch covered in a thick blanket of fresh grass and a colorful scattering of flowers. Great trees with limbs longer than he was tall fanned out to create perfect pools of shade in which to rest. The air was warm, the breeze fresh and cool. Faintly, he could hear laughter and the sound of other souls enjoying their afterlife, though he couldn't see them from where he stood.

It was all so idyllic, but without Kate there to share it with, he might as well have been in Tartarus for all the peace he felt.

It hadn't hurt to leave his body. When the god of the Underworld had crashed into him, his soul had slipped free as easily as a sword from its sheath, and he'd landed here, in Elysium.

All his pain, gone.

The turmoil of life, gone.

Kate, gone.

Hades had solidified back into the man he'd first seen and introduced himself, apologizing for the inconvenience—the _inconvenience_ , as if that term even began to describe it!—and regretfully refused Crispinus' repeated demands to take him back. A few minutes later, the goddess of Spring had appeared and made similar introductions. When it became clear that neither was going to return him, there was nothing Crispinus could do but listen to what they had to say.

They proceeded to explain everything to him, apologizing—profusely for immortals—throughout their account. They told him how they'd wanted to reward him for all his great work in the arena. How they had gone to Aphrodite with their idea, and watched as she'd found Kate, and brought her back. And then, how upset the Fates became when they found out what Hades, Persephone, and Aphrodite had done. How they had made them undo it. All of it.

Crispinus had to acknowledge that what the god and goddesses had tried to do for him was an honor, and if it hadn't been for them interfering he never would have met Kate at all. But now he was here and Kate had been returned back to her own time per the Fate's commands, and he was finding it hard to care whether the initial intentions for all of it had been for good or ill. His life, and his time with Kate, was over.

"No, no!" said Aphrodite, and Crispinus realized he'd spoken that last part aloud. "You see, we made our own deal with the Fates. We agreed that Hades would take your soul to make it look as if you had died in the arena, as they wanted, so long as we were allowed to return your soul after so that you may live on, as _we_ wanted. It was the best we could do, not being able to go against them directly. You will have to live quietly, of course," she told him. "It would be best if you left the Empire altogether, but it's up to you. I've already gone and had your body taken and healed for you, so it's ready whenever you wish to return."

He should have been grateful that they would go so far for him. It should have been a relief to find out his life hadn't been cut short. But his heart only felt dull at the news.

"What about Kate?"

Persephone looked beseechingly at Hades. The god sighed. "She is back where she belongs. There is nothing we can do about that."

Crispinus's temper spiked. She belonged with _him_. That's were she belonged!

"Then take me to her then, if you can't bring her back."

Now it was the god of the Underworld's turn to look beseeching. Persephone said, "We do not have the power—"

"Bullshit. If you can enchant plants to chain people, rip a person's very soul from their body then put it back, surely you can—"

"We're powerful, not omnipotent," said Hades, Crispinus' tone making him curt. "Our gifts are limited. We have… specialties, you could say. Aphrodite was able to pass through time and collect Kate only because it was a love match. Her soul was connected to yours and as the goddess of Love Aphrodite was able to work through that. However, that is not part of _our_ abilities."

"Then get Aphrodite to do it. Call her here. Make her send me."

"We've already thought of that," said Persephone.

" _And_?"

She shrugged helplessly. "She won't answer our summons. She was quite distraught, afterwards. Apparently Scipio is no longer speaking to her—"

That brought Crispinus up short. "Scipio? My friend, Scipio?"

The goddess of Spring nodded miserably. "She'd taken him as her lover, and the Fates threatened to kill him if she didn't do their bidding. That's how they got us to cooperate with them. From what I understand, the gladiator didn't take the news well when Aphrodite told him. He even came to the coliseum to try and stop her, but…"

She trailed off. She looked worried, as if she was afraid Crispinus might fall into a rage at the news. But he didn't react. He was surprised, certainly, but it was a detached kind of surprise, hardly belonging to him. When it came down to it, the how's and why's of what had happened were irrelevant. All Crispinus cared about now was getting to Kate.

"So Scipio broke it off with her and now the goddess of Love has gone missing? Have you no idea where you might find her?"

"None that we haven't already checked," said Persephone. "We will keep trying, of course, but if she is as upset as we think she is, it could be months, years—"

"Decades," said Hades.

Too late for him, in other words.

Crispinus began to pace. He struggled for another plan, anything that would get him to Kate. He could feel the god's radiating pity; see the goddess's remorse whenever he glanced her way.

_Think!_ he commanded himself. _How_ _can_ _I_ _get_ _to_ _Kate?_ _What_ _could_ _I_ _do_ _that_ _would_ _enable_ _me_ _to_ _reach_ _her?_

But nothing came to him.

His pacing became increasingly agitated as he failed to come up with a solution. After several minutes of this, Persephone was unable to stand it anymore. She wrung her hands together, saying, "There's always… the Lethe."

Crispinus stopped. "Isn't that the river of forgetfulness?"

"Yes, but it is also the river of rebirth."

"Rebirth?"

Hades nodded. "Yes. If you drink from it, you will be reborn in a new body, a new life."

"A fresh start," said Persephone.

Crispinus didn't want a fresh start. "Would it get me to Kate?"

The god of the Underworld shrugged, noncommittal. "It's possible, though unlikely. Many centuries stretch between the two of you. The odds of such a fateful alignment…"

Yes, the Fates certainly hadn't been on Crispinus' side so far.

"Even if you are reborn at the right time," said Hades, "you wouldn't remember her."

All Crispinus had left of Kate were his memories. Would he give them up too, for something that would, likely as not, work?

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"But wouldn't it be easier than carrying so much pain?" said Persephone.

"I don't want _easy_ ," Crispinus snapped. "I want Kate! I want her love and her body and every last painful reminder of her! If you lost Hades, would you drink your time with him away just because remembering him was difficult?"

Persephone looked at the god of the Underworld. "No," she whispered, contrite.

Seeing that she understood, Crispinus let his anger go.

"I won't take that risk," he told her. "Not yet, at least."

He turned at Hades. "Send me back. If the next time I see you, I still haven't found her…"

"I understand."

Crispinus then looked back at Persephone. "I beg of you, please keep searching for Aphrodite. And let me know if there's any sign of her."

"I will."

He took a breath. Let it out.

"All right then. I'm ready."

"We're sorry about this," the goddess of Spring told him. "We never meant for it to turn out this way."

Crispinus nodded stiffly. "I know."

"Good luck to you."

"And you."

Hades stepped forward, his form becoming light and ethereal. This time instead of rushing Crispinus, he held out his hand.

Crispinus took it.

* * *

Evodius lifted the jug of wine to his lips only to find it empty. Cursing, he tossed it aside to join the two others in the corner of his apartment, nearly hitting Scipio.

"Out?" he asked, lifting his head to peer blearily at Evodius. He had fallen out of his chair an hour ago and now lay sprawled across the floor.

"Unfortunately." Evodius slouched in his chair, letting his head fall back to take in his dirty ceiling. There was a cobweb in the corner.

"Damn. Need to go get more then." Scipio made to stand, only to teeter and collapse into the small pile of crockery.

Evodius jerked upright. "No! No more wine. It's time to talk now."

Scipio used the wall to prop his drunken self up, mumbling, "Don't wanna talk. Already told you everything."

"Not with me, idiot. With Aphrodite."

"Don't wanna talk to her, either."

"She's the only one who can fix this. Crispinus—"

"She promised me he'd be fine," said Scipio, cutting him off. "Should be back any time now."

"And Kate?"

Scipio blanched. "Nothing we can do for her."

" _But_ _Aphrodite_ —" insisted Evodius, getting frustrated now.

"Does whatever the hell she wants!" Scipio snapped. His hands fisted. He pressed them to his eyes as if to shove out whatever painful images lurked there. "I told you how well she listened to me the last time. I _told_ her not to do it. I _told_ her to leave Kate alone. And she went off and did it anyway."

"That's why it's called _trying_ _again_."

Scipio let his hands drop but kept his eyes closed tight. He sighed. "You don't understand."

Evodius smiled wryly. "As much as I would like to claim not to, I believe I understood your little story quite well. Who knew a scarred up gladiator like you could win the heart of the goddess of Love."

"That creature doesn't have a heart! And you're not exactly a prize either, my friend."

"True," Evodius conceded.

They fell quiet. Evodius sat there and listened to the bustle and chatter going on in the streets outside. Between the death of Valerius' daughter and Crispinus, the city was buzzing with rumors and witness retellings embellished to the point of absurdity.

"Why don't you hate me, Evodius?"

Scipio's whispered question had Evodius raising his eyebrows at him. "Why should I hate you?"

"Because! I'm responsible for Crispinus' death and the loss of his beloved. You should be running me through with a blade right now. Instead you're drowning me in wine and telling me to make amends!"

Evodius rolled his eyes. "You drowned yourself in the wine. I didn't tell you to drink so much."

Scipio just shook his head in despair.

Evodius had had enough of this. Getting up, he grabbed his friend by the front of his _tunica_ , and hauled him to his feet.

Scipio's eyes flew open. "What are you—?"

"Wouldn't be honorable to hit a man when he's already down."

"Hit?"

Evodius punched him in the gut. Scipio doubled over with a shocked grunt.

"There," said Evodius, "I've punished you. For your appalling lack of foresight when it comes to women. Do you feel better now?"

Scipio clutched his injured middle. "That wasn't what I meant," he wheezed.

"No?" Evodius forced him to his feet again. Scipio tensed for another blow, but the one-eyed gladiator only clapped him on the shoulder, saying seriously, "Look at me, friend."

Warily, Scipio did so.

"What happened wasn't your fault, do you understand me? So stop beating yourself up about it. You of all people should know that the gods do not take orders from mortals."

"Yes, but—"

"And as angry as you are with your goddess, I know you still love her. So even if you can't fix things with Kate and Crispinus, fix them between you and Aphrodite."

Scipio stared at him. Evodius just stood there, waiting.

Abruptly, Scipio barked out a laugh. "You're a bastard, you know that? You could have said all that without punching me."

"Yes, but maybe I was a little mad at you after all. Now I feel better and you should feel more sober."

Scipio snorted. "Not hardly."

"Ah, well, I tried."

But despite his words, Scipio stood straighter and didn't wobble when Evodius cuffed him fondly over the head.

"You'll go talk to her now." It wasn't a question. Scipio's jaw hardened. After a moment, he nodded. "Good." Evodius let him go. " _Now_ you may go get me some more wine."

Scipio gaped at him. " _Whatever_ _for_?"

"Well what else am I supposed to do while I wait for you to return, if not drink?"

"You can sit here and worry about me while properly sober," said Scipio, crossing the room to where he'd dumped his cloak. Shrugging into it he said, "It will serve you right for making me go after an angry goddess."

"You want to go," said Evodius confidently. "And she wants to see you, I'm sure."

Scipio headed for the door, saying darkly, " _That_ I very much doubt."

* * *

Kate sat with her brother under one of the bigger trees on her father's property, glad for the shade and even gladder for the privacy. Paul had over three acres, but most of it was open field, exposed to the sun's eye and whoever happened to pass by a window.

Paul and his wife, Melissa, had been nothing but kind to her and Jason over the last week and a half. Melissa especially, fussed and pampered Kate into exhaustion. She made her tea, brought her snacks—even when Kate insisted she wasn't hungry. If she thought Kate was cold, she got her a blanket; if she thought she was hot, she ran to turn the air down. She suggested books Kate might like to read to help take her mind off things. She didn't ask questions. Didn't look at Kate with anything but sympathy. In short, she was wonderful. Kate had expected some cold businesswoman. A tall, leggy thing that would look at her and Jason with open disdain. They were her husband's bastard children from another woman after all, why wouldn't she resent them? But instead, Kate had found herself being cosseted by a softly rounded woman with graying hair and unjudging eyes crinkled with laugh lines. It was as surreal as her trip back it time had been.

As for her father, it was obvious he loved his wife dearly. He was forever asking if she needed help with meals or cleaning, stealing kisses when he thought Kate and Jason weren't looking. The first time Kate had caught them, she'd waited for the usual rise of anger, the stinging bitterness, but nothing had come. Later, when she'd been wandering the hall and stumbled upon their son's room—her half-brother's—the only emotion she could pull out of the molasses of her grief was regret that her father hadn't come to find them sooner. If he had, so many of these scars they wore now could have been avoided. Even her mother, who Kate knew had loved and hated their father equally, wouldn't have begrudged him this happiness he had found. It was too real, and his remorse for what he had done too genuine. Sincerely _wanting_ to make amends, Kate was starting to realize, was just as important as being _able_ to make them, if not more so.

But despite her growing acceptance of her father and fondness for Melissa, she just couldn't be around them today. This morning she'd woken to find that Fate had returned while she'd been sleeping to stab her through the heart yet again. One more concerned look from her father or Melissa and she would break.

When she had slipped out the back door after breakfast, Jason had followed. He'd been her loyal shadow these past few days. He never said much—What was there to say? That everything would be fine? That it was all for the best? Those were useless platitudes he knew better than to voice. They'd heard enough of those kinds of things from others when their mother had passed.

"So are you going to tell me what happened this morning?" he asked, breaking an hour's peaceful silence. "I felt how upset you were when you woke up. Was it a bad dream?"

Kate didn't answer. She plucked at the edges of her jeans she'd borrowed from Melissa. The heavy denim felt odd after so many days wearing light wraps and cloaks.

"C'mon, Kate. You've barely said anything since you got back. Talk to me."

She looked into her brother's pleading eyes. He wanted to take away her pain so badly. She wished it were that easy.

She hugged her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. "I got my period," she whispered.

"Oh. Um…" She could tell by his blank look that he didn't get it.

"Jason. I slept with Crispin."

"Oh! _Oooh_. Well, that's…"

Kate watched the emotions play across his face. Shock at her admission, then brotherly distaste at the thought of his sister being intimate with someone like that, then, finally, realization. "So you're saying… But, Kate, did you want to be… I mean, did you want to have a… a…"

"It's called a baby, Jason. You should know. Your wife just had one."

He was too stunned to catch the sarcasm. "Kate. Did you _want_ to have a baby?"

Kate shrugged. "It doesn't matter now."

"Don't give me that." He caught her by the chin when she would have looked away and forced her to meet his gaze. His eyes widened behind his glasses. "I'll be damned. You did."

Her gut reaction was to deny it. She tried to shake her head, but Jason wasn't having it. "Admit it. You wanted to be pregnant. You wanted that baby."

She jerked out of his grip. " _Fine_. I wanted it, okay?" She hadn't even realized she'd been hoping for it until those hopes had been dashed, just like all the rest. "But it's for the best I'm not, anyway. I don't know anything about children. And I don't have the money to support one, or a place to raise it—"

Jason was staring at her with an expression far too close to pity for her peace of mind.

"It's just…" She tried to think of how to explain it. "It would have been _something_ , you know?" Something she could've coddled and loved. Something, maybe, with golden curls and a gentle demeanor hiding a fighting spirit. Something she could've kept with her throughout the years as proof that Crispin had lived.

"It's selfish of me, right?" she said. "That's the wrong reason to want a kid. As if it was a—a _momento_ or something."

Jason shifted so that he was sitting next to her. He put an arm around her shoulders and she let her head drop against him.

"It's not selfish to want to keep a part of Crispis with you," Jason told her softly.

Kate's huff of laughter came out slightly garbled by tears. "It's _Crispin_."

"Right. Crispin. I knew that."

They sat there, silence settling over them once more as Kate collected herself. After a while, she said, "I wanted to apologize to you, Jason."

"For what?"

She heard the frown in his voice. She'd been chewing on the words for days, but it was still hard to spit them out. "Back… _before_. That last time we talked. I left you. I know it… hurt you. It hurt me too, but, I was the one choosing to do it, and I know you didn't want me to go—"

"I understand why you did it," said Jason, taking mercy on her and cutting her off. "Just like I understand that you would do it again, if you got the chance. It's okay. That's how it should be."

Kate snuggled closer to him, grateful for his love and understanding. Yes, that was how it _should_ be, but not how it _would_ be. She had lost her chance to be with Crispin, and she was never going to get another one. She might be as lost about her life as she'd been on those ancient streets of Rome, but no handsome gladiator was going to show up this time to make her stand, dust herself off, and continue on. She was going to have to find the strength to do that herself, somehow. Without Crispin's protection.

And without his love.

* * *

Persephone had hidden Crispinus' body in a small cave outside the city. When Crispinus opened his eyes to darkness and dirt, he suffered a moment of panic where he feared he'd been buried alive. But then he turned his head and saw that daylight was only a short distance away, and he was able to relax.

It took almost an hour for him to get up and make his way out of the cave. His body felt heavier than before, his bones stiff. His limbs didn't want to cooperate and his muscles heeded him only grudgingly. He felt unaccountably weary, considering he'd only been lying there. He was hungry too, but at least that he understood.

There was a horse outside, along with a pack filled with food and a small purse of money. A sword lay alongside it. Crispinus shuffled over and picked it up, surprised to find that it was _his_ sword. That told him either Persephone or Hades had left all this for him. He made a decent dent in the rations—he wasn't about to turn any of it down—then he packed up and mounted the horse. He did it clumsily thanks to his unwieldy body, but no one was around to see, so it didn't matter. He tried not to think about Kate. But once he'd settled his horse and found the road, there was little else to occupy his mind.

Kate was from the future. He could barely fathom it, for all that it made sense and he knew it was true. She would enter the world long after his bones had turned to dust, and yet he had met her, spoke to her, held her. A miracle.

What he wouldn't give to repeat it.

He made it to his brother's farm by dawn the following day. Word of his death hadn't reached them yet, so they greeted him with relief but none of the shock he was afraid he'd see. He'd barely dismounted when Annia asked, "Where's Kate?" and pain stabbed through him like a perfectly aimed blade. But he owed them the truth, so he put away his horse and joined them inside for a late breakfast, and he told them all he knew.

Annia believed him right away. Being a former _vestalis_ made a person open to those kinds of things. Drusus, on the other hand, had always been a skeptic and practical by nature. At first, he didn't believe his brother at all. Instead, he insisted that Crispinus must have hit his head, or was in denial because of losing Kate—by some tragic but _natural_ means.

So Crispinus had shown him his scars.

Persephone had healed him, just as she'd said, but thick white scar tissue marked every spot he'd been stabbed, slashed, and cut. It wasn't until he showed his brother the four long claw marks across his bicep that Drusus finally waved him away, saying, "Enough. I believe you." And went to pour himself a much needed drink.

The next few days were surreal things that passed like snakes through murky water. Crispinus knew he couldn't stay with his family indefinitely, not when he was dead to the Empire. Twice already, he'd been forced to hide in the fields while Annia and Drusus got rid of the visitors who had come to break the news of Crispinus' passing. He didn't relish the thought of hiding out for the rest of his life. He would have to leave soon.

The knowledge pained him. His brother and sister-in-law were the only two people left in which he could find solace from losing Kate. And he had a nephew now too. Annia had had her baby while he'd been gone, and both mother and child were healthy and lively. Drusus was beside himself with pride and acted as if he'd never been worried about the outcome of the pregnancy at all, something Annia often teased him about.

And there was another reason why he didn't want to leave. A reason that had his gaze wandering constantly to the hills in the west. Annia, being the observant creature that she was, called him on it one afternoon as they were taking their daily walk around the property.

"Why don't you just go?" she asked when she saw that his attention had once more drifted in the direction of a certain temple.

Crispinus sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Annia waited, patient. It was just the two of them today. Usually they brought baby Caelus with them, but Drusus had stolen him away for some bonding time alone. The man was every inch the doting father.

"Because I fear it won't work," Crispinus admitted. "Then I'll be out of hope for good, and I don't know if I can live without hope."

"But how can you live without trying?" Annia countered quietly.

And the answer was that he couldn't. Though he was putting it off, he knew would eventually break and have to go—have to see.

That day came a week later. He woke up from yet another dream about losing Kate and couldn't stand it any longer. He packed up his things and said goodbye to his family as if he were confident in his success and not terrified like he was. He kissed Caelus and Annia goodbye, and hugged Drusus hard enough to make his brother curse and grumble about excessive strength before hugging him back just as hard. They would miss him, Crispinus knew, just as he would miss them, but they would be fine without him. They had each other: their partner, lover, life mate.

It was time he went after his own.

The temple was silent and empty when he entered it. Sunlight illuminated the interior in sharply cut streams between the pillared walls, and from somewhere high in the ceiling came the echo of birdsong. The statue of Aphrodite stood where it always did, the stone figure proud and beautiful as ever.

Crispinus wanted to smash it.

In a tone of forced respect he said, "Goddess of Love, I humbly request an audience with you."

Nothing.

He sat down and waited a bit, in case she was simply slow in appearing, but when she still didn't show after a goodly bit of time Crispinus got up and once again went to the statue, calling, "Goddess of Love! Aphrodite! It's Crispinus Agallon, the gladiator. Please speak to me!"

No response.

"Are you such a coward, goddess?" Crispinus yelled, startling the birds above him into flight. "Can you not bear to face the man whose life you ruined?"

Perfect silence. Even the chirping had stopped. It was like Persephone said. She wasn't going to answer.

Angry and desperate, Crispinus looked around, if not for an answer, than at least something he could take out his frustration on.

He spotted the offering bowl at the foot of the statue. Crispinus had nothing of value to offer save Kate's earring that he wore on his _tunica_ , and he wasn't about to give it away when he couldn't be sure it would amount to anything. He could sacrifice something, but just killing some random animal wouldn't do it. The offering had to be both symbolic and meaningful, something that would snag an immortal's attention and compel them to listen.

Idea forming, Crispinus knelt in front of the statue, then carefully unsheathed his sword. Holding one hand over the bowl, he slid the blade across the flesh of his palm. Blood splattered into the small bit of pottery.

Only when it was full did he lower his hand and sheath his sword. He stayed on his knees, staring defiantly into the statue's unmoving face.

"Goddess of Love," he said, "I have willingly shed my blood for the honor of your presence, just as I have shed it for the people of Rome and the woman I love. Hear me and obey: Come to me now!"

The bowl of blood burst into dark red flame. Crispinus leapt to his feet and away from the fire. The birds twittered fearfully and fled the temple, escaping into the sky. A female voice came from behind him, cold and ringing with power. "You summoned me, gladiator?"

Crispinus turned. Aphrodite stood in the shadow of one of the pillars, the outside light that framed her making the edges of the darkness she hid in seem to glow, like a blade of black onyx outlined in gold. Beautiful, dark, and deadly.

"I know you sent Kate back to her own time," Crispinus told her. "I want you to send me there too."

"And why should I do anything for you?"

"Because you're the one who did all this!" Crispinus yelled at her. "You're the one who brought Kate here for me to love and then took her away. What kind of goddess of Love breaks people's hearts?"

"Heartbreak is part of love," she told him quietly, and a bit bitterly, he thought. "Or didn't you know that?"

"But you have the power to fix it."

"So?"

"So you should! You owe me that!"

Aphrodite hissed, a furious snake-like sound that made Crispinus want to draw his sword again. She moved toward him then, into the light. She didn't look any less dangerous without the shadows to cloak her. If anything, she looked _more_ intimidating.

"I owe you _nothing_ ," she spat. "I was abandoned by the man I love because of you. I've lost everything. _More!_ "

"That's not my fault."

"Is it not?" She circled him. Crispinus felt the tips of her fingers brush the back of his neck.

"Perhaps you're right," she whispered after a moment of reflection. "Perhaps I do owe you a little mercy. Shall I grant you a kindness, gladiator?"

Her fingers were tracing over his collarbone now. She stopped in front of him and ran her hand down so that it rested over his heart.

"If you find your loss so unbearable, then I'll take it away from you. I'll remove your ability to love. I'll destroy every softer emotion you possess. You'll feel nothing then. Would that not be better for you?" When he didn't answer, she went on, "You could go back to the arena, or hire yourself out as an assassin, or a soldier. You would live the rest of your life without the pain of guilt or sadness. You would be the perfect warrior. And you could go wherever you wanted because no one would recognize you. Stripped of love, even your own family wouldn't know who you were, and you them. What do you think, gladiator?"

"I think you are a cruel and heartless goddess," said Crispinus, "who is too embittered by her own loss to empathize with anyone else's."

Aphrodite's eyes flashed. The fingers on his chest curled as if she would scratch him, or maybe stab him in the heart with her nails.

"Do not think," she whispered, "That you are safe from death just because Hades and Persephone talked the Fates into sparing you. I could kill you right now, and that would be it for you. No coming back."

"I have nothing to come back to," he said. "Thanks to you."

He thought she would kill him then. The rage on her face was terrifying. But then a voice from behind them said, "Leave him alone, Aphrodite."

The goddess of Love flinched back at the sight of Scipio suddenly standing there. Crispinus had to fight the same reaction, though for a different reason. His friend looked horrible. The mischievous smile he always wore was gone and had been replaced with a solemnity that didn't fit him at all. He had dark rings under his eyes. His clothes hung looser from his body as if he'd hadn't eaten in a while. Even knowing what he knew about their relationship, Crispinus was surprised the break had left Scipio in such bad shape, and he felt guilty for not having wondered.

Aphrodite collected herself first. "You! What are you doing here? Haven't you hurt me enough? Leave me!"

Scipio sighed, not at all surprised by her less than welcoming reaction. "Aphrodite, listen to me—"

"I said go!"

But he stayed where he was. "Aphrodite, you know you need to help Crispinus get to Kate."

"I am _sick_ of mortals telling me what I need to do!" she cried. "And from _you_ most of all! I already did what you wanted, didn't I? And you left me for it! I got rid of Kate like you wanted and you _still_ —"

"It wasn't like that!" said Scipio, while Crispinus' heart stuttered at her words. Scipio had wanted Kate gone?

"I asked you!" cried Aphrodite. "I told you what the Fate's wanted, that it was me and you or Kate and Crispinus. And when I asked you to choose, you picked _us_ , Scipio. Us!"

"No! I told you to help Kate!"

"Meaningless words! I looked inside you and saw the truth. You wanted to live and stay with me. That's what you truly wanted. I only listened to your heart and you left me!"

Scipio looked at Crispinus, his gaze filled with regret and silent apology, and Crispinus knew what Aphrodite spoke was the truth.

"You play unfairly," Scipio whispered to her. "If you ask me something like that, of course I'm going to want to live with the woman I love. But if you had listened to me before running off, or if you had looked a little deeper, you would have seen that I also would do anything to keep my friends from being hurt. You saw only what you wanted to, to justify doing as you wished. Of course I left you. You betrayed me, Aphrodite."

The goddess seemed to diminish under that sad pair of eyes. The furious power that had enveloped her dissipated. "I just wanted to be with you," she murmured.

"And I with you," said Scipio. "But not like this." He gestured to Crispinus. "You need to send him. It's what's right. I know you know it."

"But the Fates," she said.

"I do not fear them killing me." And here, Scipio even managed a wry smile. It made him more look like his old self. "Even if they go through with their threat, you would come visit me in the Underworld, wouldn't you?"

"I would _live_ there with you if I had to," Aphrodite told him fervently, and Scipio's smile turned warm and genuine. The goddess of Love smiled back, hesitantly. It made her look younger, sweeter. Scipio reached out and took her hand. His weariness seemed to vanish at the contact.

He turned to Crispinus. "I am so sorry, my friend. It was never my intention—"

Crispinus waved him off. "I understand. It's all right."

Scipio grinned at him, his relief evident. Aphrodite's expression when she looked at him was cool. No apologies would be forthcoming from her, Crispinus knew, but at least she was no longer beside herself with rage at him.

"I will send you, if you wish it," she said.

He nodded. "I do."

"Then come. If we are going to do this, we must be quick in case the Fates are watching us."

"Yes," Crispinus said, "of course." But he didn't step forward. He reminded himself that Kate was only moments away. He could be with her again, for _good_ this time. He could spend the rest of his life with her. And yet… "I don't know if I can do this."

"Sure you can," said Scipio. "Just stand there. Aphrodite will handle the rest."

"That's not what I mean." Frustration snapped at him. Crispinus looked at his friend. "I can't go if the Fates will kill you for it."

" _Try_ to kill me maybe," Scipio said with a wink. "I'm tougher than I look. Which is saying something, because I look damn tough."

Crispinus would have argued more, but before he could, three figures appeared from the depths of the temple, women who rivaled even Aphrodite in beauty, though by the charge in the air it was clear their powers were far greater than hers. By the fear in the goddess of Love's eyes, Crispinus knew these were the Fates.

"The arrogance of gladiators know no bounds, it seems," said the dark-haired woman in front. Crispinus recognized her as the one who had been there when Kate had been sent away. Which meant she had to be Lachesis, the Fate of Time. Her two sisters flanked her. The tall, dark one on her right he guessed was Atropos, Fate of Death. She was far too somber to be anything else. That made the smaller, blonde one who looked around with curiosity Clothos, Fate of Life.

Clothos met his gaze, smiled, and waved at him.

"You dare try to pull something like this again?" Lachesis said to Aphrodite. "Goddesses! You never learn, no matter how many times we tell you!"

"She's only trying to do the right thing," Scipio defended, stepping between them. "You should try it for once."

"The _right_ _thing_? We are the Fates! Everything we do is _right_. There is no 'wrong' for us."

"You threaten and kill people if they don't do what you say!"

Atropos sniffed at this. "All we do is for the betterment of mankind, even if you're mortal brain is incapable of comprehending how."

"Who cares if it's for our betterment," Crispinus said. "We just want to live our lives how we want to, without you twisting our decisions or putting out traps to keep us in line."

"It's for your own good though!" said Clothos. She looked genuinely confused that he didn't understand it.

"At what cost? It wasn't good for me, or Kate, or Aphrodite. How many lives have you ruined for the sake of what you thought was best?"

"You don't know what you are talking about," said Atropos. "Humanity would fall into darkness and chaos without us."

"Then let us fall! And let us enjoy the freedom on the way down."

"And when you reach bottom?"

"Who says we will?"

The Fate of Death shook her head. "Such an outcome would be inevitable if we didn't control—"

"Then what about me and Kate?" Crispinus asked, switching tactics.

"What about you?" said Lachesis.

"If you let me go to her—"

"We cannot allow that."

"But if you did! How much damage could it possibly do? If I stayed out of the public eye, if I didn't cause trouble…"

Clothos cocked her head at this, expression turning thoughtful. "The repercussions…" she murmured. Then she blinked, surprise crossing her youthful features. "In truth, they are not so bad. In fact," she added with a cheeky smile, "they are arguably beneficial."

Atropos rolled her eyes. "You are only saying that because if we let him go he will inevitably reproduce with the woman, and you are obsessed with creating offspring."

"Of course, I am the Fate of _Life_ ," she said, as if her sister needed reminding. "But the children would have a positive affect on society. Can't you see it?"

"All I see is more work for me."

Clothos stamped a tiny foot. "Must you always focus on the negative?"

"Of course. I am the Fate of _Death_ ," Atropos said, dryly mocking her sister's earlier statement.

From beside him, Crispinus heard Scipio whisper to Aphrodite, "Is it just me, or is there some sibling rivalry going on here?"

"Enough, you too!" snapped Lachesis.

What little emotion Atropos had revealed was wiped away, leaving her once again unreadable. Clothos stuck out her lip in a pout but fell quiet. Crispinus took advantage of the silence to press his argument.

"You see?" he said. "By your sister's measure, letting me go will cause no harm."

"That's debatable," said Lachesis, but Crispinus caught the brief flash of uncertainty in her eyes and wasn't about to back down.

"I _died_ to fulfill your plan," he told her softly. "Everything you wanted to happen—happened. All I'm asking for in return, is to be with the one I love. _Please_. _Give_ _me_ _this_." He stood there, hand's clasped before him. His passionate plea seemed to unnerve Lachesis. She stepped back, eyeing him warily.

"You realize, if we allowed this, that it would be for good? There would be no trips back. Regardless of whatever might happen in your life, the future will be the time you die in."

Crispinus nodded solemnly. "I understand."

Lachesis gave him another long, hard look, then shook her head, saying, "Fine then," and turned to her sisters.

"Clothos, Atropos, let us decide. Does the gladiator go, or stay?"

* * *

It had been stupid to come here.

Kate stood in the ruins of what had once been the Temple of Aphrodite, thinking that the term "ruins" was being generous. Only a handful of crumbling pillars remained to mark the spot of what had once been a sacred place of worship. Grass covered most of the temple's base and the vaulted ceiling had long ago either been knocked down or eroded into nothingness by time, as had the goddess's statue. If not for the metal placard over by the road stating what the place was, she never would have recognized it.

Kate wasn't sure what she had expected to find by coming here. The idea had just popped into her head as they were driving to the airport, and she hadn't been able to resist taking a look. Now she wished she had. She didn't like seeing it liked this. It was too harsh a reminder of how much time had passed, and how far away she was from the man she loved.

She shivered, though the day had to be the hottest yet. From beside her, Jason wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"We're going to miss our flight, aren't we?" she said.

He shrugged. "Maybe. But it's not a big deal." Except that it would cost more money to get new tickets, not to mention she was keeping him from getting back to his wife and newborn, plus work and school. Indulging her need to come here—and for what?—was putting him out a lot more than he would admit to. Kate loved him for it, even as she realized she was going to have to pull herself together and stop being so self-absorbed. It wasn't fair to keep taking advantage, no matter that her life was about as together as this temple was, and just as unfixable.

"Come on," she said, slipping out from under his arm to head back down the hill where Paul was waiting in the car. "If we leave now we can still make it."

"Are you sure? You seemed pretty desperate to come here. Don't you want to look around some more?"

Kate shook her head. "It's fine. There's nothing here to see. I was just having an attack of nostalgia, I guess."

Jason didn't look convinced, but followed after her willingly enough.

Kate trudged down the dirt path, thinking that Drusus' farm hadn't been far from here, and wondering if there was anything more left of that then there was of this temple.

Probably not.

Poor Drusus and Annia. They had to be as heartbroken as she was over losing Crispin. No, _had_ _been_ heartbroken _._ They were gone now, and had been for centuries. She had to keep reminding herself about things like that. It was like jet lag times a thousand.

They reached the car. Jason got to the door first and opened it for her. Kate thanked him, turning back for one last look at the temple. Why had she wanted to come here? The urge had been so strong, she'd been so sure about it. Now she just felt foolish. Had she really expected—no. It was nostalgia, like she'd told Jason. That's all it was. She knew better than to believe it was anything else.

"Ready?" Paul asked from the driver's seat, reminding her that she was still standing there.

"Yes," Kate said. She started to get in, but stopped at her brother's sudden laugh.

"Would you look at that," he said, pointing in the direction they had just come from. "A reenactor, even all the way out here at such a crappy ruin. They're really serious about catering to tourists in this country, aren't they?"

Kate looked back. "A reenactor? I didn't see anyone when we were up there."

"Me either. But see him? Over there, by that pillar. That outfit is definitely not this century. Neither is that sword."

Kate squinted. There did indeed seem to be a guy stumbling around up there with a sword strapped to his back. Her heart trembled inside her chest but she refused to acknowledge it. No way was that who it looked like.

"He looks a little lost," said Paul, who had gotten out to get his own look at the man. "Think he needs help?"

"Something is definitely off with him," Jason agreed. "But that sword of his makes me nervous. The last thing I want is to get stabbed by some drunk who's gotten too into his inner gladiator."

"True. Maybe we should call someone?"

Kate didn't hear Jason's reply. She was too busy staring at the man and thinking of all the ways he reminded her so much of another broad-figured man with curly golden hair who carried a sword wherever he went.

_Don't do this to yourself! It's not him. It can't possibly be him._

And yet she found herself leaving the car and starting up the hill, ignoring her brother and father's startled calls for her to come back. Her heart was pounding now and her lungs didn't want to work correctly. She called herself and idiot. Told herself she was going to get up there and see that it wasn't him, that she was wrong. But that feeling that had made her come to the temple in the first place was back, and like a siren's song, she had to go…

Jason and Paul were coming too now. She could hear them charging up after her, but she was too far ahead. The man at the top spotted her and he stilled. With the sun at his back, she couldn't see his face, but his silhouette was the right height, the right build, even the way he held himself as he watched her approached was perfect in it's familiarity.

_Oh_ _please_ , she prayed even though she knew it was impossible. _Oh_ _please,_ _oh_ _please_ _…_

"Kate?"

That voice. How many nights had she dreamt of that voice calling to her, only to wake up and find herself alone once again?

He shifted just enough so that she could make out his face, and shock and joy exploded inside her soul as she recognized those lips that were spreading in a triumphant smile, those beautiful blue eyes bright with relief and love.

Crispin.

Crying out his name as she reached him, Kate threw herself into his arms. Crispin swept her up, engulfing her in his embrace, and nothing had ever felt so right.

"Kate." His voice was rough with emotion. "Gods, Kate, I thought I would never hold you again."

"How are you here? How is it possible? I saw you fall. They told me—" But she couldn't repeat what they had said. It hurt too much and she was afraid if she spoke the words, it might make them true and he would disappear, never to be seen again.

Crispin knew what she was trying to say. He clutched her to him even tighter and told her what had happened after being killed in the arena. How Hades returned him to his body and how, after saying goodbye to his family, he went to the temple to find Aphrodite and make her send him to the future. How Scipio had shown up, and then the Fates.

"Lachesis was the one who broke the tie over whether or not to send me," Crispin confided.

Kate could hardly believe it. "So you're really here with me."

"I am."

"We're really together again."

"We are." Crispin smiled and lowered his head to her's purposefully, but a sudden terrible thought had Kate jerking back. "Wait! Is there a limit to this?"

Crispin frowned. "A limit?"

"You're not just going to suddenly poof away at midnight or something, are you?"

"I am not _poofing_ anywhere," he promised her. "I'm staying with you. Forever."

She grinned up at him. "Forever. I like the sound of that."

"As do I." He lowered his head again. "May I kiss you now, Kate?"

"Hell yeah," she responded eagerly.

His lips had barely brushed hers when someone next to them cleared his throat pointedly. Jason. Kate had forgotten all about him. She would've happily ignored her brother, but Crispin's instincts had him reacting to the sound as if it was a warning of imminent attack. His lips disappeared and she was deposited back on her feet. One arm pushed her behind him as, with the other, Crispin drew his sword and faced the threat that was her nosy brother.

To Jason's credit, he didn't show any sign of being intimidated at all, though she knew damn well he was. Paul, who was standing next to him, jumped back and crossed himself. At least he hadn't run away. Kate was impressed.

"So, I take it this is him?" Jason said dryly.

"Yes, it is. So be nice," Kate told him, trying to step around Crispin and finding herself blocked by his arm. "And you—" she whacked at the heavily muscled appendage. "—move over. It's just my brother."

"' _Just_ my brother,' she says. Well if _that's_ how you're going to make introductions…" Jason held out his hand to Crispin. "Jason Gray."

Crispin had sheathed his sword as soon as he'd heard the word _brother_. "Crispinus Agallon."

Jason made a face. "I was hoping Kate had been lying about the name." He looked Crispin up and down, pausing when he saw his footwear. His lips twitched. "Nice sandals, man."

"Thank you. I admit I am most fond of this pair. I've killed many enemies in them."

Jason laughed. "Message received."

Paul held out his hand, saying when Crispin took it, "Paul Daniels."

"My father," Kate added when she saw Paul hesitate.

If Crispin noticed the slightly awkward pause, he didn't show it. He bowed his head. "A pleasure to meet you, sir."

"I have to say, you speak very good English. Did Kate teach you?"

Kate looked at Crispin in surprise. "You _are_ speaking English, aren't you? I hadn't even noticed."

"A last minute gift from Aphrodite," he told her.

Jason snorted. "The goddess of Love gives you a gift and it's bilingualism? That sucks."

"That's not the only gift she's given me," said Crispin, catching Kate's hand and pulling her close. Kate beamed and kissed him.

Paul chuckled. Jason grimaced, saying, "If you talk like that all the time there is no way you are staying in my house. You'll make me look bad to my wife."

"We'll just have to get our own house then," Crispin said.

Kate cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Yes, well, about that. Despite what that necklace might have made you think, I'm not exactly loaded with money…"

"Loaded?"

"You know: rich."

Realization dawned. Crispin shook his head, saying quickly, "No, no, that's not what I was thinking at all. I should have clarified. I am rich now. _We_ are rich now."

"We are?" This was news to her.

"Yes." Crispin handed over a small leather pouch to her. "The Fate Clothos slipped this into my pocket right before I left. I do not know how currency works in this time, but I am sure it is enough to see us comfortably settled."

Kate opened the pouch. "Oh my God."

"What's in it?" asked Jason as he and Paul pressed closer to see. When they saw what was inside, Paul gasped and Jason whispered, "Holy crap."

Kate agreed with him. The pouch was filled with gold and silver coins, diamonds, rubies, and emeralds.

"Are those coins from your time?" Paul asked.

"Yes," said Crispin. "Are they usable here?"

"Are they usable? You've got ancient Roman money in perfect condition. Just one of those coins is probably worth more than the rest of those gemstones combined!"

"Why would Clothos give you this?" Kate wondered aloud.

Crispin gave her a decidedly wicked grin. Ducking his head, he whispered to her, "I think she wanted to make sure we had everything we needed to start a family."

"A family? As in…"

" _Mmm_." Lips brushed Kate's ear, sending hot shivers down her spine.

"Ah jeez, have mercy on a brother's eyes, would you?" said Jason, as Crispin's hands traveled just a bit too low for his peace of mind.

Paul caught his son by the shoulders and steered him away. "We'll just wait for you two in the car," he said.

Crispin waited until they were gone, nuzzling Kate's neck and stroking her arms and back until the sounds of her father and disgruntled brother faded away. Once they were alone, he cupped her face and kissed her softly, carefully, as if they were under a spell he didn't want to break. "I love you so much," he whispered.

"I love you too," she said.

He stroked her cheeks with his fingers, catching the tears that trickled from the corners of her eyes and wiping them away. "Marry me, Kate. I promise to protect, honor, and love you for the rest of my existence, in this life and the next."

"Crispin…"

Her heart too full to speak, Kate kissed him. He kissed her back, deeply, reverently, but it wasn't enough for him. After a moment, Crispin pulled away, raining kisses on her eyelids, forehead, nose and chin. "Say yes, Kate. I need to hear the words. Say yes. Say yes."

Kate forced air into her lungs. Releasing it on a shuddering breath, she answered, "Yes."

And then her feet left the ground as she was lifted and twirled, her laughter mixing with Crispin's shout of joy and victory. It echoed through the ruins of a temple that was once more a place for hope and love, a place where two people could safely dream of a happy future. And if there were no gods or fates to show them the way and make sure they got there, that was okay, because they would figure it out on their own. Together. And that was just as it should be.


End file.
